25 Days of Soul Eater Christmas
by soul-dwelling
Summary: Drabbles and short stories about the days leading up to and including Christmas for the Soul Eater cast.
1. Maka Albarn, Soul Evans, and Blair

**Maka Albarn, Soul Evans, and Blair**

* * *

Death City was usually a warm town. But even it had its chilly mornings, especially in winter. Some residents had wondered whether such cold was natural for the Nevada desert: at night, it could dip to 30 degrees. The rumor was that Lord Death, upset with how few seasons actually visited his arid city, conjured magic to influence the weather, bringing a winter, spring, summer, and fall like other parts of the world experienced. That would explain why the flowers bloomed so easily and the leaves still changed colors and fell. And it would explain why a little snow had started falling outside this Christmas morning.

Whether this rumor had any basis of fact mattered little to certain people, however. For example, in one apartment, a meister and a weapon were fast asleep, unaware it was even snowing. As happened to her every Christmas Eve, Maka Albarn did not go to bed until late, spending almost the entire day searching Death City, then traveling to other cities, for just the perfect gift for her partner. By the time she returned to her apartment at 1:15 AM, her weapon was already asleep-but he did leave some milk and cookies out for her. After downing the drink and munching on one cookie-Soul's baking of snickerdoodles had actually gotten better, she thought-and leaving the rest to have in the morning, she furiously wrapped the gifts as quickly as she could. By the time her head hit her pillow at 2:18 in the morning, there was no way she was going to be awake until late the next day.

Maka pulled just one sheet over her shoulders. She was used to the seasonal changes in Death City. Having grown up in this desert oasis, she actually preferred the cold: her bed had one sheet and one blanket so she would not catch a cold, but really, in her mind, anyone who needed to bury themselves under numerous sheets and a quilt was just some wimp who couldn't handle a little chill. For Maka, all that mattered was getting sleep and enjoying the winter temperatures while they lasted.

For Soul Evans, all that mattered was keeping warm. That's why he buried himself under numerous sheets and a quilt.

Only the tips of his white hair peaked out under the covers of his bed. He didn't want to face the morning, not yet anyway. He made sure of that by keeping his bedroom as dark as possible. Only the slimmest line of sunlight edged along his black-out curtains. His face was buried in his pillow. The only indications he wasn't dead were the slow rising and falling of his body, and a ghastly snore coming from this creature under his covers. Every December morning, he tugged the sheets closer to his body to keep in the warmth, block out the light, and sleep in the dark.

But then he felt her weight atop him.

As he felt one of her hands press on his leg, from under his covers, his right eye broke open. He clenched his teeth as he felt her other hand now moving along his ass.

Great—typical day, waking up to a busty, half-dressed cat-woman atop of him. Soul Evans was living the dream alright. And once his meister stormed into his room, his dream would turn into a cranium-damaged nightmare, a book slammed into his head.

Her nails dug through his sheets and into his skin as she crawled atop him. As she did, he let out a groan. He slowly turned off of his belly and onto his back, hoping that would knock her off of him. Still, she persisted to climb along him until he felt Blair lay atop his lap. Soul winced. He opened one eye, expecting to see her head atop him.

Blair's head wasn't atop his lap. It was her entire body. He realized those weren't her nails digging into him but her claws (which would explain why they hurt a lot more-and here he thought Blair just needed a manicure, badly). Blair had transformed into a cat. She didn't even have her usual witch's hat on: it was just her original form, a chubby feline curled up asleep in his lap.

Soul's jaw hung. Even through all his sheets and quilts, he could feel her warm body atop his lap. Carefully, he sat up in bed, pushing his pillow against the headboard so he had something a little softer to lean against. Blair stayed in his lap for a few minutes, still as death. If he could not see her body slightly expand with each quick breath, he would have thought she was dead. The fact that she was not lounging all over him, her breasts slammed in his face, left him wondering whether she really was dead—or maybe he had died and gone to non-groping Heaven.

Soul stared at Blair. For every single time she made his life frustrating—every morning groping, every book-slamming to the head he got because of her, every nosebleed, every awkward erection, every everything this pain in the ass put him through—he just stared at her. For all the aggravation she gave him, he really should bounce her out of his room right this second. But how could he kick out such a pathetic little creature, so exhausted that she was curled up in his lap?

A small smile formed on his face. He reached to his alarm clock; it was 7:48 AM. He had set the alarm for 8 to get him up to finish wrapping some gifts. The slim edge of sunlight now had become a burst of light breaking through even his curtains. He was awake enough, he figured: he picked up his clock, turned off its alarm, then set it back on his nightstand, gently so not to wake up the cat.

He remained in bed, mostly unmoving, just letting her rest on his lap. He didn't dare to move. He just let the cat get her shut-eye. Whatever drove her to be so exhausted so early in the morning confused him. Yes, Blair usually had late nights, and yes, cats were nocturnal. But Blair was usually so full of energy whenever she woke him up. And on Christmas she was usually bouncing atop him to get him up to open presents. She must have had a long day at Chupa Cabra's or something to warrant needing so much sleep.

He stayed there for an hour. He couldn't look out his window at the cold day, so he spent that time watching her, picking up his notepad from his nightstand to jot down some lyrics he had been fiddling with.

Then he heard a small murmur. He looked over his notepad to watch as Blair's mouth opened, practically unhinging as cats do when yawning, her tongue extending out as she let out a loud groan. Her eyes, gold like the sun, slowly opened and blinked a few times before recognition set in. She smiled at Soul, her eyes still droopy. "Morning," she said. And as she yawned, Blair added, "Merry Christmas."

Soul sighed and put on a smile. He set down his notepad and pen and began scratching behind her ear. Blair closed her eyes, extended her back a bit, and let out a purr.

"Same to you, Blair." He looked at his clock: it was almost 9. Good thing Maka had been up late last night, or else she'd be awake by now. "You mind if I get up? I still have some Christmas prep to finish."

She yawned again, closed her eyes, and let her head fall back down into his lap. "Can I stay on your bed?" One eye opened, and her usual mischievous grin returned. "You don't have some gifts for me here that I shouldn't see, do you?"

Soul picked her up, carefully, and kicked the sheets and giant quilt away. He set her down on the bed, moved his notepad and pen back to his nightstand, then tugged the quilt over her just up to his neck.

"Already wrapped and under the tree," he said. "As long as you don't tell Maka what I got her, I don't care."

"Thank you," Blair muttered as she fell back to sleep.

Soul looked at the cat for a moment before shutting his eyes. "Stupid cat," he muttered with a smile, before he stretched, scratched his boxers-cladded backside, and dragged himself to his desk. Leaning against it were three rolls of different bright and shiny wrapping paper, and atop it were books, pricey tea blends, and a pair of noise-cancelling headphones.

As Soul tugged his seat out and grabbed a pair of scissors from his pencil jar, he heard a tiny voice buried under the quilt say to him, "She'll like them, you know."

Soul smiled. "Hope so," he said loud enough for Blair to hear.


	2. Kim and Jackie (Part 1)

**Kim Diehl and Jacqueline O'Lantern Dupré (Part 1)**

* * *

Jacqueline O'Lantern Dupré was dumbfounded.

"What do you mean you've never had a Christmas?"

Kim finished swigging her glass of water, knocking it down onto the table-without putting a coaster under it first. Kim studied her weapon's face. Usually, Jackie would've immediately shouted at her for such poor etiquette. And she definitely would've gotten pissed after Kim insulted that gaudy green and red sweater she was wearing. Why was this topic of Christmas and-What did Jackie call them? "Ugly Christmas sweater contest"?-more important than leaving a mark on the table?

"I grew up in the Witches' Realm," Kim explained, looking around to make sure no passersby was going to walk into the girls' dormitory den. "Not exactly Christmas Village there. Hell, we're so behind on the times compared to this realm. We only just started getting 1970s music there when I left."

"Kim!"

The witch's eyes widened as Jacqueline was practically on top of her, having leapt off her armchair, around the table, and onto the couch, seizing Kim by her hands. Kim blushed. Had she done something wrong? She glanced at the grandfather clock. It was only 9:07. Not enough time for her to have pissed Jackie off yet.

But Jackie had a big stupid grin on her face-the kind she got after getting an A on an exam, finishing an essay a week before it was due, or getting that rarest of gifts, a compliment from Kim.

Kim reclined in her seat. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Jacqueline's hands leaped out and clutched Kim's.

"This is going to be your first Christmas!"

Kim blinked. "Yeah?"

Jacqueline pulled her up. "Come on! We're going out! We have shopping to do!"

"Hey!" Kim shouted. She tried to dig her heels into the floorboards-which only managed to snag her socks along the wood and cause her heels to kick up one of the rugs. "Stop! Let go!" As Jacqueline dragged her out the doorway, Kim tried to clutch the door jam, but to no avail. Down the hallway and towards the front door, Kim's voice echo: "At least tell me we're spending your money and not mine!"


	3. Kim and Jackie (Part 2)

Kim frowned.

"I like a sea of green."

Even with mittens on, she shoved her hands into her hoodie's pockets and hunched over to keep warm. She glared at all those firs and pines, with snot-nosed brats amidst them, pointing to the trees and yelling at their overworked parents, "This one, Mommy! This one, Daddy! I want this tree!"

Kim grimaced. "But the only green I like is in bills."

They were standing at the edge of the lot. Kim had to put her foot down when Jacqueline suggested visiting multiple Christmas tree lots. One was going to be enough, as far as the witch was concerned.

"Look at them all!" Jacqueline shouted, pointing at the many trees of various heights. "There's a Scotch pine! Oh, and a Fraser fir! And check out the figure on that Douglas!"

Kim's eyes widen as she looked askance at Jacqueline. If the lantern weapon was not so obsessed with the trees, she would have noticed her meister mouthing a very blue response.

Jacqueline slapped her hands together. "Okay! Let's go in!"

"Hold it!"

Jacqueline stopped moving-as her neck was constricted, Kim tugging on her scarf and dragging her back to the entrance. Kim tugged again on the scarf until Jacqueline's face was in front of her. Unable to breathe, Jacqueline's bulging eyes were meeting Kim's calm ones. Kim relaxed her grip on the scarf, letting Jacqueline catch her breath, but the witch started her line of questions:

"Humans chop down trees to put in their houses?"

Jacqueline, although trying to breath, had her smile return. She nodded fervently.

Kim frowned. "That's just stupid."

Jacqueline's smile faded.

"You kill some living tree to prop up in your house? Why not grow the tree in your front yard? For that one-time investment, you'd get a tree that lasts for years, providing shade, maybe some fruit."

Jacqueline waved her hands in front of her. "No, no, no. The point is that, every year, you get a new tree, and-"

"What happens to the old tree?"

"Well, it's dead, so after Christmas, you put it out for garbage-"

"What?! Not even compost it! You're telling me every Christmas goodie-good buys a new tree each year, just to kill one and throw it out?!"

Jacqueline stammered a bit. "W-Well, some people buy artificial-"

"Artificial?"

"Plastic trees. They look like real trees only...they're plastic?"

Kim stared hard at Jacqueline.

"How much?"

* * *

"32, 33, 34-" Kim said, counting out her dollars. "Here you are, my good man!" Kim said with a bright smile and a pleasant voice. "35 Death Bucks for one artificial tree!"

"Thank you, ma'am!" said the salesman at the Death Mart Department Store, conveniently located in the larger Necropolis Shopping Mall. "And Merry Christmas!"

"Back at ya!" Kim said, winking and aiming her index finger like she was targeting him. She then snapped her fingers and started to walk towards the exit. "Come along, Jacqueline."

The weapon was clutching the fake-looking, rather shabby tree, stuffed awkwardly into a cardboard box. The weight and dimensions was making her lean back to prop it up.

"Super," she groaned. Then a thought came to Jacqueline's mind: she spotted the other exit, this one leading to the rest of the mall.

"Wait, Kim! Hold up! We still have other items to buy!"

Kim stopped mid-step and looked back. "But we got the tree."

"I know," Jacqueline said, struggling to set the box back onto the floor, before she started to rub her sore lower back. "But it isn't Christmas until you decorate the tree."

Kim stared. "It's a tree."

Jacqueline sighed. "But on Christmas, you put ornaments on the tree!"

Kim stared. "It's a tree," she repeated.

Jacqueline frowned. "It's tradition."

"So's politeness, and we see how good I'm at that," she said with a smirk. She spun on her heel and snapped her fingers again. "Back to Chez Dormitory-chop chop!"

Then Kim heard the sounds that notified her that she just made a big mistake. First came the sound of a heel slamming against the hard department store linoleum floor. Then came, "Kim…" The witch could practically feel the fiery breath upon her neck that told her she just pissed off the wrong lantern weapon. Kim slowly jerked her head around, in a halting manner, until out of just the corner of her eyes, she could see Jacqueline's hair all aflame. And the cashier was now cowering behind the cash register.

Kim put on a nervous smile. "I guess we can delay going home for a little bit. Like five minutes?"

An explosion went off atop Jacqueline's head, the fire shooting up higher.

Kim finally turned around completely, waving her hands. "An hour! One hour! Just stop, okay?! We can't afford to have fire sprinklers go off in here! Not again!"

Jacqueline was clenching her teeth. Then, almost instantly, her face transformed, the scowl replaced with a smile, the fire extinguishing immediately. "Okay," Jacqueline said, pleased.

Kim practically collapsed. "Thank the goddess for that one…" she said. She forced herself up and started to walk towards the mall exit. "Just pick up the plastic tree and let's get moving."

Jacqueline then looked worried. "I really have to lift this heavy thing all the way through the mall?" She looked back at the tree. "That'll hurt…"

"Then you're Christmas gift will be a massage or something," Kim said, waving her hand dismissively. "Let's go."

As Kim marched ahead, Jacqueline was frozen in place, still in front of the cashier's booth. Her face was red.

"Um...who exactly would be giving me this massage?"

Kim looked back. "You say something?"

Jacqueline started to sweat. "I was saying...um...Oh!" She then set the large box to the side of the booth and clapped her hands together. Jacqueline turned to the cashier. "Excuse me?"

The cashier, still terrified at Jacqueline's earlier conflagration, bolted up from behind the counter. "Yes?!" he shouted.

Jacqueline put on her friendly smile. "May we leave this box with you to pick up before we leave the mall?"

"Sure!" the cashier said, stammering a bit but sounding happier, as he took pen and two-level carbon paper from next to the register. "Let me fill out this ticket, then you bring it back to me to pick it up. What's your name?"

"Jacq-"

Kim shoved her weapon aside and slammed her fist on the table. "Kim Diehl. K-I-M space D-I-E-H-L." She then turned to look at Jacqueline with a glower. "If I left your name on there, we'd be stuck at the mall all day."

Jacqueline met her glower. "I thought you were the one who likes going through the mall to buy things."

"With someone else's money!" Kim shot back.

"Um…" the cashier interrupted. "Here's your ticket...ma'am?"

Kim snatched it and pointed a finger at him. "Mark my words…" she then studied his nametag. " 'Clarence'?" Kim looked at his face. "For real?"

"Oh!" Jacqueline was now smiling again. "LIke the angel!"

The cashier grimaced. "I get that every Christmas…"

"Whatever," Kim interrupted and resumed pointing her finger. "Mark my words, Clarence! We'll be back in less than an hour." She then shoved the ticket into her jeans pocket, shoved her hands back into her hoodie, and started walking. "Come on, Jackie. Let's get these decorations and beat it."

Jacqueline sighed, offered a smile to Clarence, and followed after her meister. That's when her smile changed from polite to force. "Great!" she said, a little too enthusiastically. "I know the store here that will have everything we need for the best decorations, all in one spot!"

Kim rolled her eyes. "Better be cheap."


	4. Kim and Jackie (Part 3)

Jacqueline turned her face from side to side. She leaned forward. She pulled back. She then stuck out her tongue and said, "Aaaaaah!"

Kim looked around nervously. She couldn't tell whether she was imagining it, or if mall patrons were actually walking around them to avoid being near the crazy person studying her reflection in the glass ornaments so closely. She swore she heard one father say to his toddler, "Avoid those weirdos, honey."

Kim finally looked at her watch: the tanuki's long arm was on the 11, her short arm on the 3. When they entered the Death 42nd Avenue department store in the mall, the short arm was on the 2. It had been more than an hour.

"Great," she groaned. "Just lost my bet to Clarence."

If Jacqueline heard, she was not paying attention: she had now removed the glass ornament from the tree display-to the consternation of nearby salespersons staring at the duo. Kim saw their look and frowned back at them before holding up her arms, folding her hands at her wrists, as if to ask, "You got a problem?" The salespersons grimaced and turned around with false smiles to other customers, asking whether they were finding what they needed or would like to sample the latest fragrance straight from Paris.

Having defended her oblivious weapon from the perils of pissy salespersons, Kim leaned back against one of the plastic trees-noticeably firm for being able to hold up her weight-crossed her arms, and looked at Jackie. Kim had already removed her hoodie, now tied around her waist, and was wearing a t-shirt underneath. She felt the plastic needles of the fake pine poking at her skin. She took one of the branches between her fingers and rubbed it, while Jacqueline had put the glass ornament away from her face, now stroking a nail over it to make sure the paint wouldn't chip off.

Kim rolled her eyes and finally spoke up with a smirk. "See? This fine establishment uses plastic trees instead of killing some unsuspecting real tree."

Jacqueline kept studying the ornament. "You also complained all the way through this store that they sell overpriced perfumes that give you a headache."

Kim scoffed, flipping her hand dismissively. "Details, details. At least they get the trees right."

"Because they keep the same tree every year. It's a constant for the store's holiday decorations, so they don't need to buy a tree."

"You proved my point!" Kim said, patting Jackie on her shoulder-causing Jacqueline to lose her grip on the ornament.

Jacqueline's eyes widened as she saw the ornament falling down. She was paralyzed, unable to bend down quickly enough to pick it up before it would shatter into the floor. Rather than try to move, all she could think was about the aftermath: the sound of the shattering echoing throughout the department store, customers and salespersons stopping to look at the embarrassed weapon, her bare legs now covered with small cuts from the glass (she really should have worn jeans rather than her skirt today), and, worst of all, the screams of agony from Kim as she would look at her and her bloody legs and scream, "Now we're going to have to pay for that!"

But that didn't happen. Jacqueline instead saw a hand attached to a sleeveless arm scoop the ornament just before it hit the floor. Kim was now practically lying on the cold store floor, heaving and panting from her quick movement. It took a few seconds before Kim's arm moved to lift the glass ornament from the floor. Jacqueline finally exhaled.

"Phew!" Kim said loudly, as she sat up on the floor, cross-legged. Then she laughed. "That was a good catch, right?"

Her answer came in the form of a hand extended to her. "Yes," Jacqueline said. Then she hurriedly added, "I'm sorry!"

Kim returned the smile and accepted the hand. "Not a problem," she said with a bit of a grunt as Jackie got her back on her feet. "At least it didn't shatter." As Kim returned the ornament to the tree, her smile faded. Her eyes narrowed. Her hand then darted out to another ornament-a gaudy plastic one of a purple penguin in vomit-yellow swimtrunks-and ripped it off the tree and shoved it into Jackie's hands. "Here, buy this one."

Jacqueline stared at it. "But it's not glass. My parents used to decorate the tree with glass ornaments, and I haven't had a chance to-"

Jacqueline was interrupted when she looked to see Kim's unamused face.

"Then I end up walking barefoot over them and cut myself? What're you trying to do, kill me?"

Jacqueline blushed, looked down, and studied her feet. "I just...thought that the glass ones would look-"

"Here's what we need!"

Jacqueline looked up-and had ornament in her hand. Jacqueline felt sick looking at it: it was another plastic one, this time of a reindeer, its face in some exaggerated cartoony pose as it clutched a candy cane.

"Is that supposed to be a reindeer?"

"Who cares? It's not breakable." Kim then tapped the ornament against a pillar nearby, the ornament making a BONK, BONK, BONK sound with each tap. Meanwhile, the salespersons were calling security to see whether they could kick the two out.

"That's the ugliest reindeer I've ever seen," Jacqueline responded.

"Maybe it's a dog?" Kim offered.

"A raccoon dog?"

Kim frowned. "Watch it. Just...Could we do something other than glass, please? Just some animal ornaments?"

"Animals?"

"Yeah! They got penguins, polar bears, dinosaurs-"

"What do dinosaurs have to do with Christmas?!"

"You got something against dinosaurs?"

Jacqueline felt her heart sinking. She had waited months for Christmas, she had really hoped to make a tree like the one she used to have growing up, but Kim was having none of it.

"Because the dinosaur witches I knew were some of the nicest witches you'd ever meet."


	5. Kim and Jackie (Part 4)

Seared's was one of the few department stores still in the mall that had a tools, automotive, and yard department. And it was where Jacqueline was dragging Kim.

"What the hell else do you need for Christmas?" Kim asked. She felt annoyed more than embarrassed that Jackie was tugging at her past various shops, kiosks, and smelly children on 25-cent rides. (Who needed to pay a quarter for a machine to rattle a kid back and forth for two minutes? Just set the child atop a washer for the same effect.)

"Something else" was all Jacqueline would answer.

Kim could feel Jacqueline's fingers increasing their grip around her wrist.

"Oh, come on, you think I'm going to run off now?" Kim mocked. "With all this anticipation you're building, I'm sure to be surprised whatever it is you have in store."

Jacqueline had tried to be patient, but it was wearing thin. No real tree, instead a plastic tree. No glass ornaments, instead ugly cartoonish animal ones. At this rate, she figured that Kim wouldn't get her a gift for Christmas-probably just cash...no, an IOU.

Jacqueline had her hand clasped around Kim's wrist, dragging her to quicken the pace. Kim frowned at her weapon's impatience. "Oh, now you want to hurry up? After you gazed at yourself in those ornaments for an hour?"

In her other hand, Jacqueline had the plastic bag full of cheap plastic ornaments. But if she could find just the right item, she could at least lend something to make them look less cheap on the cheap, ugly, plastic tree.

Finally Jacqueline saw the lit letters down the end of the mall: "Seared's." She smirked. "Just that last shop, then we can go home."

"Oh, thanks, Mommy. Can we get some ice cream on the way back, too?"

Kim then grunted as Jacqueline tugged harder, almost knocking her off her feet.

"Watch the merchandise!" Kim shouted. "Literally! I'm not buying more of those ornaments!"

"Oh, what a shame it would be if these broke," Jacqueline replied.

As soon as Jacqueline had dragged under under the Seared's sign, Kim's face scrunched.

"Excuse me?" a salesperson approached, clutching a small bottle of liquid. "Would you like to sample our latest fragrance? Eu de carrione?"

"Yeah, that doesn't sound good," Jacqueline whispered, before adding with a smile, "No, thanks. We're kind of busy and-"

And Kim got a face full of what smell liked rotten flesh in her face. After coughing at length, she again wondered whether coming to Death City was really a good idea.

Then she realized coming to this mall was a horrible idea, as Jacqueline marched her through rows of expensive dresses-on sale, too!-without a chance to try one on.

"You spend an eternity staring at trees and lights, I can't try on a cute outfit?!" Kim yelled.

"Quiet," Jacqueline ordered, forcing a smile. "Just a bit further."

Kim finally tugged herself loose from Jackie's grip and walked alongside her. "You listen to me, Miss Straight-Edge!" She pointed a finger at Jacqueline; while she stared at her, Jacqueline kept her eyes looking forward. "How much further is-ouch!"

"Hey, you big bully!"

Kim looked down to see two small children.

"You hit our train!" The other child said.

Sure enough, Kim had not watched where she was going, landing her foot against a train track-and having a locomotive repeatedly slamming into her foot.

Then the first child kicked Kim in her shins.

"Ouch!" Kim shouted. She then glared at the little monsters and screamed, "Beat it, or this witch will gobble you up, spit out your bones, and charge your parents for the corpse disposal!"

Jacqueline had continued to march to her destination, entering the tool section of the department store.

"Get back here, Jackie!" Kim called. As she left, the children rolled their eyes and continued with their play. They grew up in Death City: such threats were rather tepid.

Kim dashed to catch up with her weapon-then was blocked by a woman, taller than her, but looking to be of high school age.

"Pardon me, ma'am?" What was with the "ma'am" nonsense, Kim thought: she aged slower, but everyone was still acting like she was some grouchy old fart. The high schooler persisted: "But I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?"

"Not now!" Kim said, trying to walk by her-only for the girl to match her step.

"I'm with the Death City Marching Band, and we're holding a gift wrapping table here this holiday season to fundraise for new instruments-"

"No time! Tired of this! Get out of my way!"

"Certainly, ma'am," the high schooler said, not getting out of her way. "If you do have gifts to wrap, just ask for me, Joy! I'd be happy to-"

"Cram a lump of coal up your ass, Joy!" Kim bellowed.

"Okay!" Joy said, pleasantly.

By the time Kim caught up with Jacqueline, she was standing at the entrance to the tool section, having not moved, waiting for the witch to hurry up.

"What took you so long?"

"Just tell me what the hell we're looking for?"

Jacqueline answered with a smile, seizing Kim's wrist. "Something I've wanted you to see! Something that is sure to make our Christmas display look glorious!"

As Jacqueline dragged her down two aisles to get to their destination, Kim frowned. "I'd like to see that…"

"You wanted to know what the hell we're looking for?" Jacqueline asked. "We're the hell looking for...these!"

Jacqueline let go of Kim's wrist as they rounded the corner and held out her hands. It was an aisle display of various strands of Christmas lights. There were red lights and green lights, thin bulbs and fat bulbs. Some arranged in patterns like stars, snowmen, and Santa Claus. Others simply lining the counters. There were icicle lights, fading lights, musical lights.

"When I was a kid, my parents would buy the rainbow lights! You get different colors, so that the bulbs would fade in and out." She smiled as she pointed at them. "Those! See them?"

Kim saw them all right. Her mouth tensed. Her eyes refused to blink. She was staring at one giant mess of a fire hazard waiting to happen-so of course Jacqueline liked them.

"I used to line the lights along my bedroom window, so that Santa could follow them and would see where I was sleeping-and know not to wake me. It was hard to sleep with them on all night-"

All night? Kim thought. Her mind started running the numbers in her head. Her eyes moved away from the lights to look across the aisle at the weird circles of fake plastic pine branches, cones, bells, and ribbons-something called "wreaths"-as she tried to make sense of whatever Jackie was babbling about. After she got the number figured out-and hell no, that price of electricity for one strand of lights all night was not going to fly.

"So ten strands of lights should work."

Kim felt her brain explode.

"I was thinking, if we had some of these around our window, then some on the tree, and finally some along the wall-"

"This?!" Kim finally bellowed.

Jacqueline put her arms to her sides.

"You drag me through perfume, through smelly tree lots, through some yokel named Clarence and an annoying gift wrap person-"

Joy waved happily at the two. "Let me know if you have anything you want wrapped!"

"For freaking lights?!"

Jacqueline clenched her teeth. "The lights add to the ambiance…"

Kim met her glare. "I'm. Not. Paying. For. Electricity. We. Don't. Need."

"You know what? No. Hell no! Screw this! Screw this Christmas stuff! You're insane!"

"I'm insane?! You wanted an artificial tree!"

"You do this every time! Over prepare! Over do everything! Simple! K-I-S-S-!"

Jacqueline was confused. She repressed a blush.

And she did get a love tap alright-right in the forehead, where Kim started tapping her index finger for each word she spoke: "Keep it simple, stupid!"

"Ouch!" Jacqueline grunted, knocking Kim's hand away. "What is wrong with you? I just wanted one decent Christmas this year! Just one!"

"Oh, then go back in time and have all the great Christmases you want! You're trying to drag me into yours, to make me all cheery or whatever this holiday is supposed to be!"

"That's because you're a Scrooge!"

"I don't know what that means!"

Jacqueline inhaled before screaming: "It means you don't want to spend any money because you are a miserly, greedy jackass who has no Christmas spirit!"

"Yes then!" Kim screamed just as loudly. "I'll be a Scrooge! I'll Scrooge it up! I'll Scrooge up this holiday season! Scroogy-Scrooge-Scrooge-Scrooge it up!"

Jacqueline had turned her back on Kim and was looking at the other aisle. She still continued to yell as she was studying the items there, hung on hooks, various diameters, as she tried to find the two or three she needed.

"Do you have any idea what I am at all asking for?!" Jacqueline shouted back. "I want a Christmas like I used to have-"

"And why is that?!" Kim asked.

"Because I don't get to go home this year!"

Kim's eyes widened. She didn't know whether everything actually got quiet all at once, or whether she just imagined it. Or perhaps she properly failed to remember what she heard because of what then happened:

Kim felt something coarse and tight slam against the sides of her head and down her body. The ringed object fell along the sides of her body, bringing her arms together until the ring stopped at her wrist and waist. It was a wreath-a tight, scratchy wreath-that Jacqueline had slammed over Kim's head and down her body to her ankles. Then another wreath slammed down along her waist and wrists. Then a final one along her shoulders.

Jacqueline was heaving with anger, hunched over. She then stood up straight. "Have Christmas your way!" Jacqueline then brought her arms across her chest and then out, sweeping the space in front of her. "I'm done, you-you Scrooge!"

Jacqueline then threw down the bag of ornaments at Kim's wreathed feet, spun on her heel, and stamped off back to the mall exit.

It felt to Kim like it took her a minute to finally look up where her departing weapon had gone. Really, though, as she finally managed to overcome her shame to lift her heavy head up to follow Jacqueline, she was still there.

And that's when Kim really saw red.

"Hey! You jerk!" She wreathed in the wreaths, struggling to extricate her limbs to no avail. "What the hell is this stuff made out of, steel?" She was by no means weak, especially as a meister, yet these stupid wreaths were holding her back, likely because she was too angry to focus her strength to rip them apart. Oh, if she was her nature was destructive like all the other witches, Kim thought.

"Get back here!" Kim yelled, as she determined to follow Jacqueline-not to apologize, of course, but, well, maybe try to explain herself and figure out why not going home for Christmas was bothering her. Kim then started to walk, or, more accurately, shimmy herself, scooting her left foot a bit, then her right, until she was walking like that ugly penguin ornament. She was unable to move her upper body due to the tightness of the wreath along her chest and arms. "Jackie! Jacqueline! Come back!"

Even though Jacqueline was now 30 feet away, she was still in eyesight, and Kim was such a loudmouth that of course her dear weapon would hear her and turn around.

Jacqueline then approached the mall entrance, not looking back.

Okay, maybe a lot of groveling was going to be necessary. Kim inhaled then shouted, I'm sorr-!"

Kim stopped talking when she then tripped over the model train kit's tracks. She landed hard on her chin, causing her lower teeth to cut into her tongue.

"Ouch!" Kim shouted. "My _tung_!" She could not speak properly. "I bit my _tung_! And it _tucking hurds_!"

Then she felt something metal slam hard into her left cheek: she had fallen onto the model train set, as the locomotive crashed into her face and fell off its tracks. She could hear the train's wheels continue to rotate, then the locomotive's electronic horn toot-toot right in her ear.

"At least I heal quickly," Kim thought-daring not to speak, feeling her tongue now swelling from the cut.

"Excuse me, ma'am!"

Kim frowned upon hearing the chipper voice of Joy.

"Would you like me to gift wrap your purchase for a special someone?"

"Oh, _tuck_ off."


	6. Kim and Jackie (Finale)

Jacqueline didn't return to the girls' dormitory until around 9:30 PM. At least, that's when she thought she got home: factoring in how long she stayed at the mall after separating from Kim, then walking through the city alone, and having a late dinner, it was still hard to tell the time when it was already dark outside by 7 each night.

She opened the front door. The foyer was barely lit. No one was waiting for her.

"Yeah," Jacqueline thought. "Everyone is off on holiday. No need to have the room so bright." Even Misery wasn't pacing in the foyer, ready to interrogate why she was out so late.

Jacqueline slid the wet bottoms of her shoes along the mat and opened the closet at the entrance, where she hung the scarf she just removed. As she bent down to unbuckle her boots, she thought, "I can't go home because Mother has to host important meetings. Meanwhile, every other girl is gone: Eternal Feather, Anya, Meme-"

Jacqueline then kicked herself. She sighed, realizing that being taken out of school by one's parents, or in Meme's case, being locked up by the school, was not preferable.

She set her boots on the wet mat to dry the rain off of them. She unbuttoned her jacket and placed it into the closet. She turned to look at the stairway leading up to the second floor of bedrooms. She sighed.

"Be nice to have anyone else around," she said. She could at least take some solace that she did her good deed for the day after leaving Kim tied up at the mall. And if Maka kept her promise, she'd have an excuse to get out of the house tomorrow rather than be confined with a partner and roommate who cared more about her wallet than Christmas.

But as Jacqueline dragged herself up the stairs, she knew she was not blameless. Growing up in the kind of household she had, Christmas was one of the few times to be around family. She attached a lot of emotions to the day. It isn't enjoyable to feel alone on Christmas.

Jacqueline then kicked herself: it isn't enjoyable being a closeted witch in Death City either.

* * *

She stood in front of their room: the whiteboard stuck in the center said "Kim and Jacqueline." As she hesitated to enter, she had a lot of time to study that board, such as how unrefined Kim's handwriting could be, while Jacqueline had struggled to make her name look halfways decent with the dry-erase marker. She put her hand on the doorknob for what felt like a minute. She leaned her forehead against the door. She did anything she could, though anything she could, to delay having to face her.

And as Jacqueline looked down, she noticed something: a sliver of light along the hallway carpet. It was yellow, probably from the old desk lamp sitting on Kim's desk. Then it went out. No, not went out-it faded. And as it faded, another light-this color, green-started to fade up. Jacqueline raised an eyebrow. The green faded into blue. Then into red. Her mouth hung open. She stared at the door. Slowly, she turned the knob and opened the door. And along the floor, a sliver of light emerged. It was now a rainbow of colors. Jacqueline began to realize something.

She threw open the door, hearing it slam against the coat rack. Her face was hit with lights. Since sharing a bedroom, they had made numerous adjustments to it, never quite satisfied with where everything was located. And evidently, Kim had made more adjustments while she was out: Kim had her bed to the left, Jacqueline's on the right, a nightstand was in the center, right underneath one of their windows. And that windowsill was lined with lights. Those lights were now yellow again. They were slowly turning green. Jacqueline stared for a few seconds in surprise. She felt her arms go limp. She slowly walked into the room, pushing the door open to the left. And on the right, she saw a tree-still that ugly plastic tree. But it had lights on it. And ornaments all along it in red and green. Glass ornaments. It was a tree, like the kind she had growing up, right at the base of her bed. And along the wall, above her bed, was another string of lights that spelled a name:

"Jack."

Jacqueline did a double-take. " 'Jack'?" she asked to herself.

"Ouch," came the response behind her-behind the door. Jacqueline froze. The door hadn't hit the coat rack. She then felt the door's knob smack into her behind as Kim pushed the door away and emerged behind it, rubbing her face. "I already injured my tongue because of you," Kim groaned, "now you want to break my nose, too?"

Kim didn't hear an apology.

"What, you got nothing to say?" Kim asked, crossing her arms as her weapon faced away from her. Kim stopped grumbling when she noticed Jacqueline was still. Then she saw her shoulders seize and drop. She heard a small sob. Kim grimaced. She started waving her hands. "I ran out of lights! You don't know how this is!" She showed her hands-with bandages-to Jacqueline, who still faced away from her. "The lights didn't work! So I had to check every bulb! Then I tried hammering the lights around the window-so, you know, there goes your security on this room-because I thought lights around a windowsill, hey, that would look nice, right? But then I used too many lights there, so I couldn't spell your full name-not even 'Jackie,' just 'Jack,' which, really, may be too androgynous-but there wasn't enough time to take the lights off the window to fill out the name, and I tried! I really did! I just didn't know how-"

Kim stopped talking when she felt the air pushed out of her chest, as Jacqueline had wrapped her arms around her for one of the tightest hugs she ever had.

"I love it."

Kim's eyes widened as she hear Jacqueline whisper into her ear.

"Thank you."

Kim frowned. Jacqueline couldn't see her blush, so she struggled to sound informal. "Yeah, well, it's fine for a few days. Up to December 25. Maybe a little after. Like to January 1. But that's it! After that point, the tree and those lights get crammed into their containers-and I kept the receipts, so, maybe, you know, if we can't store them, I can at least get my money back."

Kim pushed Jacqueline off of her-really, to see her face, which, as she expected, was red around the eyes, still crying. Kim tried to avoid eye contact, walked back a bit until she was sitting along the edge of her desk-pushing her chair out of the way to maintain her cool, calm, misery persona. "And don't break those ornaments," she said, trying to contain her own blush as she fiddled with one of the empty ornament boxes on her desk. "We might return those, too."

Jacqueline looked at where Kim was standing, leaning against her desk-and noticed the waste basket at her feet. She could see the receipts in there. A small smile formed on Jacqueline's face, even as she sniffed loudly. "Of course," she said, as she walked to Kim, leaned one arm past her-grazing her side, which sent a shiver along Kim's back-to remove a tissue from the box seat on her desk. Jacqueline brought the tissue to her face and blew loudly.

Kim grimaced at the sound and manner. "Classy," she groaned. She then pushed herself off the desk, grabbed Jacqueline's shoulders, and spun her around, pointing at the tree as she put an arm around her shoulder. "I think I did pretty good for my first Christmas tree, right?"

"It's beautiful," Jacqueline said. "Excellent work."

Kim smirked. "Thanks! I think it came along well. I even added my own touch!"

Kim pointed at the center of the tree. Jacqueline's eyes widened. Her smile faded as she glared, with sardonic contempt, at her partner. "Seriously?"

In the center of the tree was the ugliest lion ornament-a plastic one at that-that Jacqueline had seen. Its mane was poorly painted, it was wearing a tacky Santa suit, and its crossed eyes and smile would be giving the weapon nightmares for a week.

"What?" Kim asked, meeting the frown with a smirk. "You don't like 'Santa Claws'?"

Jacqueline slapped a hand over her face. "Kill me."

"Oh!"

Jacqueline removed her hand and looked up and to the doorway. Kim followed as well.

"What wonderful decorations!" the person in the doorway shouted. It was Tsugumi Harudori, who had a small box in her right hand. "Great work, Jacqueline!"

"Oh," Jacqueline started. "It wasn't me. It was-"

Kim pushed her weapon aside and shouted, "I did this! Give me some credit here!"

Tsugumi pulled back, waving a hand in front of her. "Sorry! Sorry! It's just that, you know, Jacqueline is always so quick at doing artsy things, and you, well, don't seem to be-"

Kim was growling. Despite all common sense screaming in her head to shut up immediately, Tsugumi persisted, tentatively: "You don't seem to be the kind of person who gets all excited about the holidays…"

"Let me at her!" Kim shouted, while Jacqueline was tugging on her shirt to hold her back.

Tsugumi sweated. She'd have to finish this work fast: she transformed her left hand into her spear form, put it into the box, and pulled out with it some bundle of green leaves and white berries, tied together in a red bow. The bundle had an adhesive strip on it. As Kim was tugging more and more on Jacqueline, inching closer and closer to the entrance to snipe at Tsugumi, the scared NOT student quickly shoved her spear at the door's frame. Miraculously, on the first try, the adhesive stuck securely, causing the bundle to fall down, swinging down and swaying in front of Kim. That witch stopped moving and stared at the bundle.

"The heck are you doing?" Kim asked.

Jacqueline stopped moving as well. She looked over Kim. "Mistletoe?"

"Wait, mistletoe? You guys use that here in Death City?"

Kim then felt pain shoot through her arm. "Ouch!"

Jacqueline pulled her fist away from her shoulder, having successfully silenced the witch.

Tsugumi chuckled. "It's used all over the US! Even in Japan and a lot of other places." Tsugumi then smirked and waved a piece of mistletoe at her. "Don't tell me the almighty KIm Diehl doesn't know the importance of mistletoe for Christmas."

"I know a lot of things, you moron!" Kim shouted back, stamping her feet towards the irstwhile first-year. Jacqueline seized Kim's wrists, struggling futilely to stop her, the heels of her socks dragged along the carpet. As Kim approached the doorway, Tsugumi had already hopped back, still smirking as she went across the hall, waiting until both Kim and the dragged Jacqueline were underneath the doorway.

"So if you're so smart, what is mistletoe for on Christmas?!" Kim shouted.

"Shh!" Tsugumi said, putting a finger to her lips. "You'll wake Miss Misery."

Kim tugged once more on her wrists, freeing herself-and causing Jacqueline's chest to slam into her back, her arms falling over her shoulders. Kim was too angry to tell Jackie to give her some personal space. Instead, she whispered, her eyes still piercing at Tsugumi, "Okay, fine. What is mistletoe for on Christmas?"

Tsugumi answered with a chuckle. "I think Jacqueline already knows.

Kim scrunched her face in confusion, at which point Tsugumi seized the opportunity to saunter away to decorate the rest of the doorways.

"What the heck was that about?" Kim asked. She looked over her shoulder at Jacqueline, her face practically next to hers. "So, what is mistletoe for around here?"

Jacqueline was not looking at Kim. She was looking up at the mistletoe.

"You okay?" Kim asked, still not removing Jacqueline off her back. Hell, she had been on her back all day anyway, why would this make a difference? "Your face is all red?"

Jacqueline was sweating. She just kept staring at the mistletoe.

"Jacqueline?" Kim asked.

"When…" Jacqueline started. "When two people are under mistletoe...they're supposed to kiss…"

Kim's eyes widened. She felt her heart skip a beat.

Both meister and weapon now had faces as red as the Christmas lights behind them.


	7. Tezca Tlipoca and Justin Law

"Put the 'Death' back in Deathmas!"

Tezca Tlipoca was frowning. At least, it seemed that way: it was hard to tell when he had a giant bear mask over his entire head.

He was standing at quad, at the front entrance to the Death Weapon Meister Academy. From there, he could see just past the teeth-shaped, numerous students were gathering around one table, holding plates and napkins. Next to it, a boy was holding up a clipboard, where other students were writing something down onto it.

But what was occupying his attention was his scrawny buddy: a 17-year-old decked out in a priest's uniform, screaming to the heavens his message of divine justice or whatever nonsense he had flooding his head this week. Tezca leaves him alone for two weeks while he's on a mission down south, and he finds his best human buddy making a jackass out of himself.

"Justin!" Tezca called across the quad. "Stop screaming! You're scaring the first-years!"

If the first-years were scared of Justin Law, they made that point apparent by walking around the crazy man screaming into a megaphone at them.

"You shall give our Lord his due on the day that should have his name!" Justin shouted at the students.

"Stop!" Tezca called. "You look like an idiot! Bigger than usual!"

Granted, if Justin was scaring students, the man dressed in a sharp-toothed bear's mask wasn't exactly alleviating their fears, either.

Tezca felt his stomach growling. He didn't have time for this: best to be direct so he could get lunch already.

"Let's talk about this rational adults!"

"You are sinners in the hands of an angry god!"

Tezca felt his mouth curl into a sneer. "Well, so much for 'rational.' He's going full-on Edwards again."

Every year, Justin would do this: Christmas rolls around, and the guy starts preaching about Deathmas, some made-up holiday he concocted right after he became a Death Scythe.

"We shouldn't have a Christmas tree!" he would shout. "We should hang ornaments on our tree-shaped Lord!"

Yeah, Lord Death didn't appreciate that one: it was the first time Tezca saw him chop Justin.

"We shouldn't sing Christmas carols!" he would shout. "We should make a trendy remix with Europop beats that tell of the greatness of our Lord!"

That song wasn't too bad, but it was kinda preachy, Tezca thought.

"We will build snowmen!" Justin would shout.

Tezca didn't mind that idea.

"And enchant them to come alive, to be animated and go forth to convert others to celebrate a day of merrymaking and the slaughter of all on Lord Death's kill list."

And there went the holiday cheer, right out the window. Nothing says "Merry Christmas" than blood and carnage. Then Tezca remembered the tiny man on the cross that his mama used to show him an church-and he shrugged. Okay, maybe carnage is part of Christmas, but still, this wasn't some _Silent Night, Deadly Night_ movie marathon. Well, maybe during the Death Room holiday party, but come on, that's tradition.

It wasn't that Justin was insane about Deathmas 365 days out of the year: just right after Halloween and up until December 24. Then he would fall into depression. Tezca would pick him up, get drunk with him on eggnog, then they would throw eggs at Christmas trees until the cops came. (Thank goodness it wasn't throwing eggs at nativity scenes: even Justin wouldn't go that far.) By New Year's Eve, with all the Christmas trees tossed into the garbage anyway, Justin would calm down and forget this Deathmas nonsense for another year.

"Santa is a false profit! Worship at the feet of Lord Death, not the man in red who breaks into your homes and munches on your baked goods and dairy products!"

But this year, Justin sounded like he was about to go off his rocker.

"Okay, buddy, you're done," Tezca said, as he stood in front of Justin and held out a hand. "Give me the megaphone."

"Put the 'Death' back in Deathmas!" Justin shouted again.

"I'm serious, man, enough with this War on Christmas nonsense. That stuff sounds insane. Give me the mega-"

"Put the 'Death' back in Deathmas!" Justin now had pointed the megaphone right into Tezca's face, the reverb deafening the other Death Scythe.

"Damn it!" Tezca said, clutching the sides of his bear mask where his ears would be. "Even if you can't hear me, I know you can see me!" Tezca tried to shout over Justin.

"Deathmas!"

Finally, Tezca clutched Justin by the collar of his shirt, held him in the air, then with his other hand gripped the cords of his earphones and tugged. "Ouch!" Justin screamed as he felt a burning pain shoot through his ears. "That's hurtful!"

"So's going deaf," Tezca responded, evenly, as he lowered Justin to the floor. He sighed. "Why you do this to yourself, man? Every year you work yourself up into a tizzy over your made-up holiday-"

"Deathmas is real!"

"Point it out on the calendar," Tezca responded.

"It has no need for a calendar! It is in the hearts of all who believe!"

"Really? So if it's on the calendar that is your heart, where is that: before or after the left ventricle?"

"It resonates with the souls of those who have heeded the word of our Lord!"

"Before or after Lord Death told you that if you tried this again, he'd smash your record collection and re-assign you to the Antarctic?"

"It is that day where we celebrate the real lord and savior-"

"Please, don't do this," Tezca said, putting a hand over his face.

"Not some made-up God and his son who is merely a flim-flam artist and-"

Tezca seized Justin by his collar again. "Enough. You do not get to stand here and start talking shit about someone else's religion with having them talk shit about yours. I understand your frustrations with all of that stuff, given your childhood, given the nuns, given all of that. But enough. Stop using your trauma to mess with other people and telling them how to believe."

Justin's eyes stared sharply. "Let go of my collar."

"Make me."

The megaphone was already up in Tezca's face again. "Put the 'Death'-!"

Justin then felt pain explode in his fingers. Tezca had punched his hand, loosening his grip on the megaphone. Tezca then caught the megaphone with his right hand, transformed his left hand into a mirror, and shouted, "Solar Ray!" Angling his mirror towards the Sun, Tezca had managed to charge a laser beam, which he then fired at megaphone. Justin stared, his mouth condensing with fear, his face shining orange from the fire bursting from Tezca's beam. Then in front of his face appeared the melted remains of his megaphone, save for its handle, which was miraculously still whole. Tezca returned the handle to Justin's limp hands and said, "There. Knock yourself out."

Justin was frozen for a few seconds. Slowly his face contorted, wrinkles forming under his eyes, his lips peeling back to expose his teeth grinding against each other, his eyes narrowing into slits.

He then bellowed, right into Tezca's face: "Deathmas will never die!"

The last syllable was so elongated that it almost knocked Tezca off his feet, as he had to lean into the blast to avoid falling back. When the noise stopped, Justin righted himself and hunched forward. His mask was now halfway up his face, exposing his nose and jaw. He slowly stood up again, frowning at his fellow Death Scythe. "That's just rude," he responded. "And isn't Deathmas going to die anyway? It's got 'Death' in it."

"Shut up!" Justin yelled.

"I'm just saying that a PR firm would be a big help in better marketing the holiday. Maybe make it sound not so fearsome. How about 'Badly Wounded-mas'?"

Tezca was then thank his bear mask was so thick-as it meant he barely felt pain as Justin began whapping him upside the head with the melted megaphone, hitting him with each beat of his new chant: "It is called Deathmas!" With each bonk on the head, Tezca's mask let out a squeak like something out of a rubber duckie.

Tezca finally caught the melted megaphone with one hand and threw it behind him, where it clanged against the quad's floor. He seized Justin by the collar. "Why are you keeping up with this charade, man? It's not a real holiday!"

"The War on Deathmas is a thing! Don't you watch the news?!"

"I don't watch it: I read it. Or live it. One or the other. You know half the crap on TV is fake. Next you're going to tell me that 'Great Pumpkin' nonsense is real!"

Tezca then felt something sharp slash across his ankle.

"Ow!"

He looked down to see a cat wearing a witch's hat at his feet.

"Non-believer," Blair said, as she turned up her tail and sauntered away.

Tezca and Justin both stared as the cat departed.

"Well, that was random," Tezca sid.

"Indeed," Justin said, trying to sound more dignified as he moved his hands in between Tezca's, knocking them off his collar. He then turned at his heels and marched away from the cosplaying Death Scythe, back towards the entrance to the Academy. Across from the two Death Scythes was the bulletin board for DWMA announces-as well as a long temporary table set up, where numerous students were milling about.

"Hey!" Tezca called after him. "I'm not done with you!"

He sprinted to Tezca as he entered the Academy. Justin kept his eyes looking forward, not glancing at him. But Tezca could tell Justin still wasn't ready to conclude this conversation: he had not yet plug back in his earphones.

"Just how can you be so confident in this stupid fake holiday you concocted."

"Oh, Hero?"

Tezca watched as Justin approached the crowded table at the entrance to the Academy, pushing students aside as he approached a lanky boy seated there.

"Oh, hey, Death Scythe!" Hero said. "Looking for a status update?"

"You know it!" Justin exclaimed. He then wrapped an arm around Tezca, dragging him forward. "Tell me, how many signatures has our petition received."

"Petition?" Tezca asked.

"2,000! In Death City alone!"

Somehow, the eyes on Tezca's mask widened. "2,000?" He turned to the smirking Justin. "What, signatures?"

Justin simply nodded. "That's not even including online."

"We're trending!" Hero held up a pocket mirror, upon which showed the hashtag #Deathmas. "At this rate, we'll more than meet the signatures needed to get a response from Lord Death!"

Tezca stared at Justin. "Explain?"

Justin let go of Tezca as he seized his cross necklace and began sermonizing: "Lord Death, in his inscrutable ways as only a divine being such as him can understand, has grown tired of hearing of Deathmas from only the voice of one of his followers! He wants to have the message spread to others, to convince them to follow in this holiest of all holy days!"

It was as if light was shining down upon Justin-which was odd, since they were indoors at that point. Before doves could land on Justin's shoulders, the unimpressed Tezca turned to Hero. "What's altar boy trying to say?"

"Lord Death wanted to do outreach to know which issues people around the world are concerned about," Hero said. "Something to try to get the DWMA to be more friendly since, you know, the Avatar of Fear burst out from underground and kinda made us look back."

Tezca sighed and crossed his arms. "As tends to happen when you lie about keeping an unholy abomination underneath your school. Okay, so he set up that petition web site thingie-so what?"

Hero continued: "We need 6,000 signatures to get Lord Death to give more serious consideration about hosting Deathmas."

Tezca groaned. "How did you morons get even 2,000 signatures?"

"Appealing to the goodness of the people!" Justin bellowed, putting his hand up to the ceiling. "Thank you, Oh Lord!"

Hero smiled dismissively. "We gave away free pizza."

Tezca's bear ears twitched.

Justin frowned and closed his eyes. "Yes, yes, we also appealed to the nature of most students, which is a desire to take something free, even if it is not particularly satisfying." He clicked his heels together, stood upright, and pointed a finger in the air, keeping his eyes closed. "But we who feed the body will thereby feed the soul. For as someone fills their earthly needs, they will have found they are feel far less full. Rather than seeking only the base nourishment of cheese, bread, tomato, and spices, they will yearn for something that fills their spiritual needs."

He then clutched his cross again. "Which is why, in the name of the Father, the Son, and-"

"Um, Death Scythe?"

Justin opened his eyes. He frowned at Hero. "I wasn't done making my point."

The two then heard a loud belch. Hero grimaced and said, "I think your point was made about two minutes and four slices ago."

Justin looked back: the other Death Scythe was gone.

"Tezca?" he asked to the blank air, looking back and forth to see where he had gone.

Then he heard, from where the belch had emanated, a shout-the shout of someone with pizza crammed into his mouth:

"Put the 'Death' back in Deathmas!" Tezca shouted, biting through his first piece of pepperoni, lifting his mask just enough to get the food in his mouth without exposing his face. Surrounding students, each of them gathering their slice after signing the petition, looked annoyed at the cosplaying Death Scythe hogging all the food.

Justin and Hero stared, wide-eyed. Without looking away, Justin's hand blindly reached for the petition sheet on the table. Sure enough, at the very bottom, was the signature: "Tezca Tlipoca." Justin's eyes relaxed. He smirked. As he replaced his earphones, he said, "Hero, I'll be taking a break. Please see that our new acolyte visit the local coffeehouses and remind them that they are abominations so long as they fail to celebrate our Lord in every way possible."

As Justin departed down the hallway, Hero frowned. "Right. Get them to put 'Merry Deathmas' on all the coffee cups. I'm on it." The students leaned back in his chair. "I already asked seven times. I really don't see how one more time is going to work."

Another loud belch echoed through the hallway.


	8. Crona and Ragnarok

"I bet it's going to look ugly!"

"You'll never know until I finish."

"You know why, right? It's because you're probably going to make it look ugly-like a lot of things you make!"

Crona tried as best as they could to ignore the inky black mess emerging out of their back. They were really bundled up against this cold weather: thermal underwear, jeans made of thick denim, . It was bad enough Crona was so thin that they were hardly insulated against heat. But then came the additional problem of Black Blood being surprisingly chillier in certain circumstances-like when so much of their blood collected into Ragnarok, tapping on Crona's forehead as they were scooping snow into their fingerless mittens.

"Like that face you're making! Wipe that stupid smile off your face! Hey, are you listening to me? Give me attention!"

But Crona didn't care. They were indeed smiling. After all, who could pass up a chance to build a snowman, when the entire front lawn was covered in snow?

Crona had stopped listening to Ragnarok's complaints minutes ago. By this point, so many months since Maka defeated the Kishin and with him Arachnophobia, the tiny ink blob was more like a petulant child than an unrepentant bully. It was amazing how effective Maka's and Miss Marie's wavelengths were to curb most of the madness that had harmed Ragnarok and Crona for so long. And it was amazing how Tsubaki's meals helped mollify Ragnarok, too.

Crona then felt their stomach rumble. They grimaced and patted over layers of fabric over their abs. If only Crona could add a few pounds there, too-something to stand against this cold. Crona would have to make this work quick so they could get inside to make hot chocolate before Soul got back to the cabin.

"Crona!" Ragnarok whined. "I'm bored! Can't we do something fun?"

Crona, despite themselves, let out a soft, friendly laugh. "This is fun, Ragnarok!" They scooped up the snow and threw it into the air, letting it fall atop both of them.

"Hey!" Ragnarok shouted, swatting the snowflakes away. "Back off! Shoo!" But it was too late: the snowflakes landed on him-and he felt the chill coat all over him. And as he was Crona's blood, they felt it, too. But Crona still smiled: even as the blood ran cold, there was something oddly comforting about this cold.

Crona had never gotten used to colder weather. Throughout their childhood, Crona had never seen snow: locked in a windowless room, trained daily to kill baby dragons, starved, beaten, tortured. It wasn't until after Crona was pardoned by the Academy and returned to classes that Maka had suggested a trip to the northeast, to show Crona some different climates. That was a year ago. And now, a year later, they and Soul were back at that same cabin. While Maka and her weapon had gone to town to get more food, Crona stayed behind, ostensibly to clean up the kitchen, keep the cabin warm, keep track of the news in case any reports of, who knows, an abominable snowman or a vampire elf roaming through the woods.

But really, Crona wanted to stay so that they could plop down in the snow-covered front yard and play in the snow. Let the snow be cold; let their thin body chill and their Black Blood freeze over. Crona wanted that feeling. There were so many things they wanted to feel, and it was no point trying to avoid them. Croan could deal with them. They had a lot to catch up on, for what they had missed for so many years.

"Isn't the snow pretty, though?" Crona asked.

Ragnarok answered with a sneeze. "Ugh," he groaned, snot forming at his nostril-or, where his nostril would be. "This cold stuff is giving me a cold," he whined, nasally.

"You should've worn your scarf, mittens, and toque!" Crona said, smiling.

"I'm not wearing something that sounds as stupid as a tock!"

" 'Toque,'" Crona corrected.

"Hat! Whatever!" Ragnarok crossed his arms. "I miss when I used to be all badass, just smacking you around and showing which of us is the one in charge."

Crona was again not listening: they had crouched down, scooping snow together into a mound. They could feel Ragnarok's tension, his teeth clenching as he readied for his attack. Let him, Crona thought: they were ready.

"Aaaaah!" Ragnarok screeched, his roar shaking snow off the bare branches of nearby trees. Then Crona felt their upper lip pulled back as Ragnarok jammed his mitts under their nose and starting tugging. Crona gasped in pain: for how much smaller Ragnarok was, and how nicer he usually was, he still was powerful.

"Stop it, Ragnarok!" Crona ordered, desperately swatting at their face.

But Ragnarok had become craftier in the last year: he had practiced forming new limbs, as more of their blood slithered along Crona's arms, pulling them back to prevent Crona from deterring the Black Blood being.

"Nah-uh!" Ragnarok shouted. "We're done with this cold shit! I just want to warm by the fire and-"

"Ragnarok!"

He froze. Whenever Crona got that tone in their voice, he knew trouble was coming.

"Wait!" he shouted, waving his arms-the ones that were tugging on Crona's face-away, but so afraid forgetting to let go of Crona's arms as well. "I'm sorry! Don't do anything hasty! Please, don't-"

Too late: Ragnarok felt cold collide with his entire body.

Crona then started giggling. Ragnarok knew what was coming.

"Look, Ragnarok!" Crona shouted. The little shit had gotten quite the sense of humor lately, Ragnarok thought: they fully knew he couldn't see. But Ragnarok did know what Crona was doing: he could feel the blood throughout Crona's body, always knowing how they were moving, feel what they were grabbing, know what they were doing.

And what Crona was doing right now was slamming their legs and arms back into the snow, swinging their limbs along the ground. The arms went up parallel to Crona's head, and the legs spread out as far as possible, then came back again.

"I'm a snow angel!" Crona shouted, a smile large across their face.

"You're a little shit angel, you bastard!" Ragnarok shouted. Or, rather, he tried to shout. It just sounded muffled as his face was now pressed between the ground and Crona's back.

It was at times like these, as rare as they were, that Ragnarok actually wished that cow and her wimpy hamster-boy would come back already from their stupid errands.


	9. Patty Thompson (Part 1)

The market's double doors burst open, sending a cold wind into the warm building. In the entrance, her hands on her hips, her elbows out, posing like a modern-day superhero, was a blonde teenage girl, wearing jeans, a thick sweater, a knit cap, and a pair of mittens. She was wearing dark sunglasses and a bright smile.

She then thrust a finger up to the air. "I have arrived!"

Behind her, a taller dark-haired teenage girl peaked around to look into the warm grocery store. "I know," Tsubaki Nakatsukasa told Patty Thompson. "You were counting how many more steps until you got to this entrance."

Patty's index finger drooped, along with her smile turning into a frown. Her sunglasses slowly fell down the bridge of her nose. "Kinda killing the mood here, Tsu," she replied, before hunching her shoulders and stamping her feet all the way into the building, knocking the wet off her boots from the rain. Squeaks followed every step she made. Tsubaki followed after her, wiping rather than simply stamping her feet on the mat to get the moisture off.

"Hurry up!" Patty ordered. "I can't miss this!" She was walking into a cashier's lane to more quickly get to her target. Unfortunately for customers, Patty had decided to walk through a crowded lane, as she knocked into one customer trying to pay for her groceries, another customer behind her trying to set his groceries onto the conveyor belt, and another customer struggling to hold the heavy weight of his handbasket. Along the way, Patty gave half-hearted sorry's, what it, and, hey, nice wig. The last customer with the heavy handbasket glared as Patty knocked him aside to get through-then was surprised as Patty turned back, pushed him aside again, and picked up a tabloid behind him. "Oh, seriously?! How did they get _that_ photo of Soul?!"

"I'm sorry!" Patty could then hear, as she flipped through the sordid paparazzi info, as Tsubaki, walking through the neighboring lane, empty with no cashier, apologized to each customer Patty had harassed. Tsubaki then grabbed Patty's wrist and tugged hard, dragging her along-and sending the tabloid into the air and landing on the last customer's head.

Patty eventually shook Tsubaki's wrist off of hers so she could rip off her mittens. "Okay," she began. "I have to get everything I need for Christmas dinner-and I only have two days to do it! Everyone is depending on me! I said I would make the dinner, and I'm gonna do it!"

Tsubaki looked confused. "But Kid has an endless number of chefs at his disposal. Why not have them assist you?"

"But I'm making Christmas dinner! Kid said I couldn't do it alone because he thinks I lack good taste or patience or focus or-Hey! Look at that funny bunny rabbit balloon! I want one!"

Tsubaki put a finger to Patty's chin, turning her head away from the ceiling net full of helium balloons and back to her face.

"Right!" Patty told herself, "Focus! I'm making Christmas dinner! That means getting the ingredients-and that includes one big-ass turkey!"

"But your mansion has a large staff to buy the supplies."

"But I'm making Christmas dinner."

"But-"

Tsubaki stopped in her tracks, as Patty turned, brow furrowed, pointing a finger into Tsubaki's nose, and pushing. "I'm. Making. X. Mas. Din. Ner."

Tsubaki leaned back to get out of the path of Patty's nose. She smiled as sweat collected on her brow. "O-Of course you are!"

Patty smiled triumphantly. "Good."

Then feedback sounded off from all speakers around the grocery store, prompting the two weapons to cover their ears. "I-Is this thing on?" came through the speakers. The announcer then cleared their throat and continued: "Attention, Death Mart shoppers. We will be holding our Christmas dinner raffle in five minutes."

Patty's smile remained. She shoved her hand into her jeans pocket and pulled out a raffle ticket, which she held up to Tsubaki's eyes. Tsubaki frowned as she again found something shoved into her face.

"Please come visit us at the deli where the store manager will raffle off one fresh turkey for a lucky Christmas winner," the announcer continued. "Merry Christmas from your friends at Death Mart: where shopping is like dying."

The announcer paused. Patty looked around the ceiling in confusion. Tsubaki raised an eyebrow.

"And going to heaven," the announcer continued. A loud click of the microphone turning off then was broadcasted.

"I've heard some bad grocery store announcements," Tsubaki said, still looking up along with Patty. "That one is pretty bad."

Patty shrugged. "Eh. Could be worse. Now follow me! We have a turkey to procure!"

As Patty led the way to the deli section, passing through the crowded cookie aisle. Amidst holiday shoppers fighting for gingerbread men, Christmas tree cookies, and limited edition chocolate peppermint sandwich cookies, Tsubaki struggled to catch up, and avoid the number of screaming babies, screaming parents, and screaming non-breeders. It made Tsubaki happy that Angela at least was more well-behaved. But she couldn't help but think of Black Star as she saw one child ripping open one box of ginger snaps to shove into her mouth two at a time, before her parent could stop her.

"It sure is crowded, even with two days of Christmas remaining." When she rounded the corner to see the produce section, she had to look above the crowd to find Patty. She saw the girl had waited for her, waving her hands in the air to get her attention. After Tsubaki snaked through the crowd to caught up to her and thanking her, Tsubaki had to ask: "Why wait two days to get the turkey? If you're in charge of the dinner, shouldn't you have made the purchase a day or two earlier? Before the shops got crowded?"

Patty opened her mouth to explain-and was interrupted as a security guard said, "Excuse me, ma'am." The guard marched past Patty and into the soda aisle, where two customers each had their hands on a leg of a frozen turkey, tugging at it. Patty and Tsubaki watched for a moment as the guard tried to talk the two customers to calm down, that it wasn't fair for one customer to steal the turkey out of the other customer's shopping cart just because the store ran out. But when both customers simultaneously pushed the guard and told her to butt out, Tsubaki and Patty saw the security guard hunch over, transform her hands into mallets, and knock both customers in the chin. The customers were knocked out, collapsing into the soda display behind them. The security guard sighed, transformed one mallet back into a hand, and called the police-and for a clean-up on Aisle 14.

Patty kept her head turned to the fight but looked askance at Tsubaki. She pointed at the aftermath. "That's why. People get all nutty during the holidays. I don't need to get into a fistfight over a turkey. I like getting into fist-fights for good reasons, like fighting over after Christmas sales." Patty then flexed her arm and patted her bicep. "Got to keep my strength up for those 75-percent off candy sales!"

Patty smirked again. "I could ask why you wanted to tag along, Tsu. Why're you waiting two days to get Black Star his gift?"

Tsubaki blinked. "I'm not waiting two days. I told you…" She then pulled from her jeans pocket a receipt. "I have a raincheck on that limited edition holiday bottle of Justice Cola that Black Star wanted me to special order. The store ran out when I visited two weeks ago, but it finally came in."

"Tch," Patty scoffed, waving her hand. "Excuses, excuses." She turned around before Tsubaki could glare at her, proceeding to mark to the deli. "You get your late gift for Black Star when the manager shows up for the raffle. Now hurry up! My turkey destiny awaits!"

Tsubaki looked unamused. She then stood up straighter, flexed her arm, and patted her bicep. " 'I'm just saving my strength to get candy and punch people after Christmas,'" Tsubaki imitated Patty's voice.

"You coming, Tsubaki?!" Patty called back, not looking.

"Coming!" Tsubaki said, resuming her pleasant voice. She then frowned again as she dragged herself forward. " 'Turkey destiny.' What is that, anyway?"


	10. Patty Thompson (Part 2)

"Hellooooooooooo, Death Mart shoppers! We are so happy for this amazing turnout for our free turkey dinner raffle!"

The manager of the grocery store was standing at the deli, clutching a microphone next to a small amp. She was calling loudly-to a crowd of three: Patty, Tsubaki, and some man wearing a blue snowflake sweater. Patty started applauding wildly, which convinced the man to timidly clap along as well.

Tsubaki just clasped her hands in front of herself and tried to keep up her smile. She then leaned to Patty and whispered, "If everyone is fighting over turkeys in this store, why aren't there more people who entered this raffle?"

"Shh!" Patty instructed. "I got this!" She then turned to the manager: "Let's hear the results, baby!"

"Oh, my," the manager said with a smile, chuckling a bit. "We have a very excited contestant today!" She then frowned. "Who bought up just about every raffle ticket we have, harrassing our Death Mart family of employees, and putting a stock boy into a choke hold."

Tsubaki did a double-take. Then she heard something fall behind her and roll to her feet. It was a can of cranberry sauce. She looked behind her to see what-who-knocked it down: it was a stock boy, with a neck brace, quivering in Aisle 32, nervously looking around the corner to keep an eye on the excited contestant.

Tsubaki then turned again to see Patty, giggling to herself as she was hopping up and down, now clutching long streams of tickets.

"Um, Patty? Would it not have been less expensive to, I don't know, just buy the turkey yourself instead of buying those raffle tickets?"

Patty frowned. "Got to suck the fun out of this, too? God, you're worse than Maka!"

Tsubaki pouted a bit. "That hurts."

"Besides, the raffle benefits my favorite cause: the Death City Zoo!"

Tsubaki smiled. "Oh, well that is a good deed." Then her eyes narrowed as she remembered: "The zoo that put out a restraining order on you."

Patty glowered. "I'll show them who's the nuisance. How will they appreciate it when their 478 dollar and 22 cent donation is discovered to have come from the only person known to break a giraffe out of her holding cage and ride through the streets of a crowded city?!"

The manager had her fingers to her forehead, trying to repress her headache. She sighed, inhaled as she stood up straighter, and replaced her smile. "We are grateful for all the contributions we had for this contest. Even though that meant numerous customers were scared away from competing as all tickets were purchased by one person. Then we ordered more tickets...which were also purchased by one person."

"Not mine!"

Patty turned to look at the man in the snowflake sweater, who was waving his one raffle ticket. The man then looked to Patty with a pleasant smile-which quickly disappeared as Patty started growling at him. Tsubaki had to pull her back by the collar of her sweater and a stern, "Down, girl."

"So before we have more fist-fights in our supermarket today, we'll start the raffle!" the manager announced. Behind her, four brawny butchers, their strength evident by their massive muscles and toned physique, still struggled to wheel up a massive table with a large hand-cranked device atop it. Inside the green plastic container were numerous ping-pong balls, each with a different number. And thanks to the number of tickets Patty had purchased, the butchers were out of breath by the time they got the machine to the front of the meat display case. One butcher had to lean against the table to catch his breath.

The manager paused, waiting for the butchers' labored breathing to subside. "Okay!" the manager said cheerfully, as she grasped the crank. "Let's roll the machine and see who wins the turkey!"

"I think I have a good shot this year," the man in the snowflake sweater said.

"Cram it, Joey!" Patty shouted. "I'm winning that turkey!"

"Patty," Tsubaki said gently, holding up her hands. "Let's keep our calm here."

"Yes!" the man insisted. "May the best person win! And, by the way, my name is actually Julian."

"Your name is whatever I say it is!" Patty screamed, swinging her fists full of tickets at him, just missing his face because Tsubaki wrapped her arms around Patty's waist and lifted her off the floor. "Joey" recoiled and shoved an exhausted butcher in front of him as a shield.

"And our winner is…" The manager began, reaching into the door opened in the machine to pull out the ping-pong ball. Patty stopped swinging her limbs. Tsubaki still was holding her off the ground but now looked to the manager. Joey turned as well.

The manager had to squint at the small writing on the ball. She then shouted, "Raffle number 08092013!"

Patty pushed Tsubaki's arms down off her waist and left up through her arms, landing on her feet and screaming, "I won!"

The manager frowned. "You cannot know so soon that you-"

"I memorized every ticket number!" Patty shouted, having now emerged in front of the manager, dragging her hands along one line of tickets, their numbers facing the manager. Without having to look, Patty's fingers traced along the tickets and stopped at the exact number: 08092013. The manager froze.

"I win! Give me the bird!"

"I so want to…" the manager said through clenched teeth. Then she smirked. "But I think a recount is in order."

Patty's face fell as the manager's hand went past her face and dove back into the machine, pulling out a new ping-pong ball.

"The winner is number 51204!"

"Yep!" The winning raffle ticket was on the fifth row of tickets Patty clutched, as she pointed.

The manager was sweating. "I-I-I-I misread! Pick a new one!" The manager shoved her hand in again and pulled a new ball. "It's number 80910!"

Then the manager saw Ticket Number 80910 in her face.

"It was upside down! 01608!"

Patty wiggled her eyebrows as she pointed to Ticket Number 01608.

The manager shoved both hands into the machine, pulling out more balls, even letting them fall along the supermarket floor with hollow soft sounds, and started reading off number: 081213, 3185, 120504. Patty delighted as she held up the tickets at different angles before the flustered manager's face.

"021713!" the manager shrieked.

Patty stopped smiling. "Oh. I don't have that number."

"Oh!" Joey shouted. "That's my num-"

Tsubaki wrapped her hands around Joey's mouth, pulling him back into Aisle 32, past the terrified stockboy with a neckbrace, just avoiding smacking into him. "Don't say another syllable. Just be silent. She is a killing machine. Don't make eye contact…"

A good thing that Joey avoided eye contact: Patty's death glare at that moment caused everyone near her, including the manager, to skip back five steps. Slowly, Patty's head jerked to face the manager, and she intoned, "Give. Me. My. Turkey."

The four butchers were now hidden behind the manager. "I think you should give her the bird," one butcher said, shaking in his apron.

The manager sighed. "Fine!" She dropped the mic-its feedback breaking through the amp, causing the butchers to cringe. But Patty, hands to her side, did not flinch. Her fingers curled into her hands until the tickets were crumbling under her strength.

"Calm down," Tsubaki whispered to her, having removed Joey to the parking lot and instructing him to run-if he could stand any chance of getting ahead of Patty before her potential rampage through the streets. "It's okay. No more competition. Just breathe. You're going to get your fresh turkey."

Tsubaki stopped when she then heard chuckling. Patty lifted her head: her face was confused as she followed the sound of laughter to the manager herself, her mouth curled into a sinister grin.

"Oh, it's a fresh turkey alright." She snapped her fingers. "Bring our winner her fresh turkey!" she commanded to the butchers. The four quickly nodded and dashed away to the back of the deli.

Patty released her fists and smiled happily. She started clapping her hands. "Yay, me!" Before the manager knew it, Patty was already in front of her, shaking her hand vigorously. "Thanks, Manager! I really appreciate your understanding! Otherwise, Santa wouldn't be the only one leaving something awful down your chimney this year!"

"Th-thanks," the manager tried to say, her body shaking from both rage and Patty's grip. Her devilish grin then returned as she spotted her butchers returning with the fresh turkey. Before Patty could turn around, Tsubaki already was looking down at it-and her friendly smile disappeared and was replaced with a bemused frown. "What on earth…?" Tsubaki asked.

"What's wrong, Tsu?" Patty asked, eyes closed and still smiling as she spun around. "You act like you've never seen a turkey!"

"Well," Tsubaki started, "in a grocery store, they tend to be not so...um...alive?"

Patty's eyes snapped opened. She looked down to see a full-grown, very much alive, very curious turkey, now pecking at Patty's boots.

Patty's head turned almost 180 degrees to stare at the manager. "The hell is this crap?!"

The manager smiled. "Your fresh turkey. Enjoy."

Patty's face contorted into a panic grimace as sweat accumulated. She walked backwards-her head still turned back 180 degrees-and threw her arms back to grip the manager by her face. "But you're called Death Mart! You don't sell living things! Everything here's dead! Dead beef! Dead carrots! Dead artificially flavored fruit snacks!"

The manager was cackling as she answered: "We're expanding our offerings." She then shoved her finger into Patty's nose. "All for you."

Patty frowned. "It's because I threatened to dropkick the free sample person the last time I was here, isn't it?"

Behind the stockboy with the neckbrace was a terrified woman clutching a tray of peanut brittle samples.

The manager frowned. Then she bellowed: "No refunds!" She then shoved Patty's forehead, knocking her down on her back-well, chest-and with her butchers fled to her office, where she could lock the door.

"Hey!" Patty shouted, turned back her head and spinning to chase after the manager. "I want my dead bird!"

"Patty!" Tsubaki shouted, grabbing Patty again by the waist and holding her up. "Enough! You're causing enough disruptions!"

"But I slaved for weeks to threaten people to get the tickets to enter the raffle as part of my overly complex goal of getting one freaking turkey for Christmas dinner! Is that so wrong?!"

"Yes!" the entire grocery store of customers and employees all shouted simultaneously.

"I wasn't asking you!" Patty shouted. "I was asking Tsubaki!"

"I agree with them," Tsubaki said calmly, still clutching the fussing Thompson.

"Oh, like you're a fair judge!" Patty shouted back, crossing her arms. Then she felt something land on her shoulder. It was the turkey, who had managed to fly up and land there. "And what about you?!" she shouted. "You're supposed to be dead!"

The turkey responded by pecking at Patty's head, producing a hollow sound with each peck.

Patty shoved her hands over her face. Her voice could be heard, albeit muffled, over the sounds of endless pecking: "Worst. Christmas. Ever."


	11. Patty Thompson (Part 3)

Patty was sitting on the sidewalk in front of Death Mart. She was sipping a can of cola. But after every sip she took, the turkey on her shoulder kept shoving his beak into the can and taking a sip, too.

"I had no idea turkeys like soda," Tsubaki said with a smile, trying to break the tension. She had seated herself next to Patty, as their feet tried to find a spot on the parking lot's asphalt without snow-still an oddity to find in the arid desert, but again, Death City had a lot of oddities. For example, two weapons seated with a turkey on one of their shoulders.

"That's because this bird is defective," Patty said, glaring forward into the parking lot full of vehicles. The winter sun's light was blinding her so badly that she set down the half-empty can and removed her sunglasses from her pocket. "I bet it's not even edible. The thing's probably as tough and stringy inside as its poor outer personality is on the outside."

"I don't know," Tsubaki tried to offer. She rubbed under the turkey's beak, eliciting a pleased coo from the animal. "He seems friendly."

"Tch," Patty dismissed, leaning back a bit, upsetting the turkey who tried to adjust its perch on Patty's muscular shoulder. "That's 'cause the thing's too stupid to think."

Patty then felt something sharp strike against her right temple as the turkey seized her sunglasses and ripped them off her face, the swiftness of the removal causing the plastic glasses arm to cause painful friction along her skin.

"Ouch!" Patty screamed, putting both hands to the right side of her face. She turned to face the turkey-who now had managed to flip the shades onto his face. Was that bird actually smirking at her?

Patty clenched her teeth and slowly started to move her shaking hands, opened and ready to throttle this bird, up to his neck. "He's gonna die…"

"Stop," Tsubaki ordered.

Patty did.

"Inhale."

Patty did.

"Exhale."

Patty let it all out in one blast and shouted, "Nope! Still pissed!"

Chains whipped around Patty's wrists, binding them. The turkey flew off of Patty's shoulders and hid behind Tsubaki, whose hair now was in chain form, holding down Patty's hands.

Tsubaki narrowed her eyes. "You are losing your patience, and so am I. You have to treat this situation more rationally." She eased the tension on her chains to let Patty remove her wrists. The Thompson Sister continued to glare at Tsubaki and the turkey. But Tsubaki persisted: "Let's start with your goals: you have a living turkey, you have Christmas dinner tomorrow, and you have to figure out how you are going to get that dinner served."

"But this screws up the timeline!" Patty yelled, as she put a hand in her pocket and removed a folded sheet of paper. "See?!" She unfurled the paper to show a timeline-drawn in crayon-for her holiday festivities. Each step had an illustration with it.

"First, brine the turkey! That's gonna take a day!" Stick-Figure Patty had the crudely drawn frozen turkey dunked into a bucket labeled "SALTY." Underneath was a clock with the words "24 HRS."

"Next, roast that sucker!" Stick-Figure Patty now had the turkey on a spit-roast over a fire.

"Then, eat!" This one had Stick-Figure Patty with Stick-Figure iterations of their friends. Tsubaki could recognize Kid from the three stripes, Soul from the sharp teeth and poor demeanor, and Black Star from the star-shaped hair and big mouth.

"Finally, pass out, and once I awaken, take the cash out of everyone's wallets for after-Christmas Day shopping!" The other Stick-Figures were either asleep or dead, and Stick-Figure Patty was clutching green bills in her hands.

"Is it too late to talk Black Star and Angela out of attending your Christmas dinner?" Tsubaki asked, grimacing.

"Well, you're gonna have to!" Patty said, as she rolled up her brilliant plan. "Because I can't serve. A. Liv. Ing. Turk. Ey!" And with each syllable, Patty was trying to smack the turkey with her rolled-up paper, sending the bird back behind Tsubaki and shaking.

"Stop that!" Tsubaki shouted, clutching the paper. "If you already know you can't serve this bird, then harming the poor thing isn't going to help!"

Tsubaki turned to the shivering bird, bringing a hand to his side. The turkey attempted to peck at her, but Tsubaki persisted until the back of her hand lightly stroked his wing. His breathing subsided and his eyes closed halfway, as he calmed down.

Patty stared for the longest time at Tsubaki's interactions with the creature. The poor thing was terrified, Patty thought. Her eyes softened. They got a bit wet, even, as she realized she was tackling this problem all wrong. She sighed and held out her hands. "Tsubaki? Give me the bird?"

Tsubaki smiled, pleased to hear something calm and rational from her friend. She did as commanded. The turkey started to flap its wings and let out a cry of fear. But as he was placed into Patty's hands, his cry silenced, the weapon wrapping her arms around him and holding him close, letting her warmth feed into his very soul and bring him peace. Yes, that turkey realized, he was safe. He let out something akin to a sigh and started to coo. Tsubaki sniffed loudly and rubbed a tear away from her eye.

"It's okay, you adorable bird, you," Patty said, stroking the top of the turkey's head. "From this day forward, you shall be known as...Mr. Gobbles."

Mr. Gobbles let out another sigh of relief as he closed his eyes. Tsubaki smiled and closed her eyes as well.

"Well!" Patty then shouted, holding the bird up in front of her. "Time to behead, you remove your innards, shove new innards up into you, and cook you to 180 degrees Fahrenheit!"

Mr. Gobbles's eyes broke open. He was too stunned to respond.

But Tsubaki wasn't. "I'm sorry," she asked calmly, her eyes still closed and her smile still on her voice. She asked, serenely, "What the hell did you just say?"

Patty frowned. "Oh, don't give me crap right now, Tsubaki." She sighed. "Fine. I'll measure it in Celsius then. Um...What is 180 degrees in Celsius? Like, what, 800 degrees or something?"

Tsubaki's eyes snapped open, looking furious, while her serene smile and calm voice persisted. "Are you telling me you are still going to cook this bird?"

Patty shrugged. Mr. Gobbles was too busy shivering, too terrified, to say anything, or to even hazard an escape.

"Patty," Tsubaki said, her voice giving a warning. "You just said there is not enough time to brine him."

"Eh, brining's overrated anyway. Plus, Kid should watch his sodium content-it'll be the death of him."

Tsubaki was now frowning. "You can't kill this turkey."

"Yeah, I can. There's a Sash and Slash home improvement mega-store across the street. I can get a hatchet, maybe build a chicken coop for Mr. Gobbles while I sharpen said hatchet-"

"You don't put turkeys into a chicken coop!" Tsubaki finally screamed.

Patty stared at Tsubaki. The point seemed to reach her. "Ah, I see what you're driving at. I need chickens for a chicken coop, right?"

"Patty!"

"Of course, a farm isn't a farm without a holstein. Do you know where I can buy a cow?"

"Patty!" Tsubaki shouted again.

"Do you think there are magic beans in the Secret Vault underneath the Academy?"

"Patty!" She was now growling.

"What?"

"You just named it!"

"Yeah?" Patty asked.

"You can't name it! Once you name it, you can't kill it!"

"We give names to the people we assassinate."

"That turkey is not on a kill list! It's not like Lord Death gave us some mission that said"-then Tsubaki started to imitate Lord Death's high-pitched voice, " 'Hey, kiddos! You know what would be a good idea? Go kill Mr. Gobbles for Christmas Dinner! Get on that, chop chop!'"

Patty rolled her eyes. "That's a terrible impression. Lord Death would never say 'chop chop.'"

"Ahh!" Tsubaki finally screamed, shoving her head in her hands. "Just...Fine. Whatever. Go kill Mr. Gobbles. See if I care."

"Enjoy eating him!" Patty said, smiling, as she stood up, finally removed the sunglasses from the head of the terrified turkey, and spun on her heels to depart. "I'll be at Sash and Slash to get to work building that chicken coop! I think we have enough room in the backyard for one."

"What about the hatchet?" Tsubaki asked, her voice muffled through her fingers.

"Oh, right, thanks for reminding me!" Patty said, patting Tsubaki's head. "By the way, what do you prefer: dark meat or light meat?"

"Just...I can't eat that bird," Tsubaki whined. "I can't eat Mr. Gobbles. Just...just serve me something vegetarian tomorrow. No salt. My tears over Mr. Gobbles will salt my meal."

"Tofu, got it!" Patty said happily. "Let's go, Mr. Gobbles!" she shouted as she started to skip down the parking lot and across the street to get the fatal instruments that would end the life of the cowering turkey held in her arms.

Tsubaki stayed seated on the sidewalk with her head in her hands for about a minute. She still had to go back into Death Mart to get her raincheck order. But first, she had something else to do. She removed a pocket mirror from her jeans and dialed a number.

"Yo, Tsubaki!" the voice on the other end of the mirror answered. "What's up? Hey, you okay?"

Tsubaki sniffed loudly. "Liz? If you haven't gotten a lot of sleep lately, I think you should just stay in bed for the next two days"

Liz Thompson frowned. "Patty's gonna do something stupid, isn't she?"

Tsubaki nodded, tears falling down her face.

Liz sighed. "Must be Wednesday." As she rubbed her temples, she glanced behind Tsubaki. "Look, if you're at the supermarket, pick up some wine-boxed, really cheap stuff-and let's meet at your place."

Tsubaki nodded.

"Good," Liz said with a smile. "Just sleep it off, girl. I'll see you in an hour, okay?"

Tsubaki nodded again. Then she said, "And don't tell Kid."

Liz frowned. "But couldn't he stop Patty before she does something stupid?"

Tsubaki simply stared.

Liz grimaced. "Right. Stupid question. Of course he can't. Okay, see you in an hour."

Liz's image shut off immediately, replaced with the reflection of Tsubaki, her eyes red and her lip quivering.

"This is pathetic," Tsubaki muttered to herself. "I'm crying over a turkey."


	12. Patty Thompson (Part 4)

What Death the Kid liked was getting a full eight hours of sleep. He liked having a consistent schedule.

What Death the Kid disliked was how unpredictable repairs were at Gallows Mansion. He disliked how more chaotic Liz and Patty made his schedule.

It's not that Kid ignored the benefits of having the Thompsons in his life: if he was to be a sufficient Shinigami in the model of his father, he must be able to collaborate with others with personalities far dissimilar to his own. He could depend on Liz to talk him down when he was fixated on a surface not quite even, an outfit not quite symmetrical, or even a blemish upon the skin. He also appreciated Patty's confidence and wherewithal to see a task to its conclusion. And she was good for laugh, such as her humorous promise that she could ever prepare a full-course Christmas dinner for eight in just a few days.

But when Patty compromised his sleep, he was far more irritable than usual. And at 5:30 AM, two days before Christmas, he heard saws and hammers going before the Sun had risen. The noise woke him from pleasant dreams of peace in the world, compassion for all people, and all classes starting exactly at 8:00 AM. By 5:37 AM, he was on his feet and walking to the bathroom.

He expected the construction were repairs caused by Patty: another ceiling tile cracked, another remote thrown through the television screen, another window broken by an errant baseball, the roof ripped off again for her makeshift slip-and-slide constructed out of the staircase, stitched together shower curtains, and a fire truck stolen from the local firehouse. That was why he blamed Patty immediately, with no evidence yet: if something was broken that necessitated Liz, his father, or someone with the mansion's staff to call for repairs at 5:30 in the morning, it had to have been so horrendous that only Patty could accomplish it.

What Kid did not know was that there were no repairs being done to the mansion that morning. The noise actually came from the side yard, where Patty had been up since 4 in the morning, constructing a chicken coop for Mr. Gobbles. Then she realized she needed chickens for a coop, so there was the noise of a local farm dropping off a pick-up truck full of chickens. And of course no chicken coop was worth its salt without a cow next to it to give it character, so that had to arrive. That meant Patty had to construct a pen for Moo-nica. And that's what Kid heard: large posts being hammered into the cold ground, and fence posts being hammered to keep Moo-nica in.

But there was soon indoor work done by Patty, however, that Kid likely did hear: Patty needed a big rock to place Mr. Gobbles's neck upon when she was ready to assassinate her target. At 5:41 AM, while Kid was showering, Patty slowly opened the kitchen's door to the backyard, quietly shut it behind her. Atop the kitchen table was one terrified turkey, locked in a box. Mr. Gobbles started to pant in fear of his executioner. Patty glared at the bird and put a finger to her lips and with a loud "Shush!" silenced the creature. "Keep that up, and you'll be made into turkey burgers instead!" she chastised him.

From the kitchen, Patty slowly tiptoed to the staircase, up to the second floor, and into the indoor zen garden. Patty found what she needed: a big-ass rock. She bent down and, with the strength of Samson, lifted that rock-one inch off the sand. She collapsed with the rock, just having it miss severing her digits.

So Patty did what any rational person would do: she went back to the side-yard, roped Moo-nica, led the docile bovine into the kitchen-and then realized her loud hooves would wake up everyone in the Mansion. (She did not yet know Kid was showering, or that Liz was dead asleep in her bedroom after drinking with Tsubaki last night.) The noise at least excited Mr. Gobbles, whom Patty again shushed. "Moo-nica," Patty whispered. "Watch the condemned. Mama has to get something to quiet your loud footsies!" While Mr. Gobbles shivered in fear, Patty tied Moo-nica to the refrigerator handle while she went to her room and brought back thick socks to dress the cow's feet. As the socks slid along the kitchen floor and into the hallway, Patty smiled in appreciation of her efforts to keep the cow quiet as they continued their trek. Unfortunately, Patty started leading Moo-nica before untying her from the refrigerator handle. The good news was that Moo-nica only dragged the fridge a few inches away. The bad news was that the freezer door was now missing a handle: with a loud crack, the handle flew off the door, smashed against poor Mr. Gobbles's crate, and down the hall after Patty and Moo-nica. But at least that handle's rattling against the walls and staircase would let Patty know where the cow was at all times, since she could not now hear her hooves.

And somehow, this all made perfect sense to Patty.

She led Moo-nica to the zen garden, roped the rock and attached the other end to Moo-nica, and the powerful steed-er, bovine-got that rock out of the zen garden, down the stairs, and out into the side-yard.

By this point, the noise of the rock tumbling down the stairs had woken all the staff. But as it was one day before Christmas, they had already put in for their vacation time today, and they would be damned if Kid was going to pester them with whatever scheme Patty had in mind. After all, she promised to prepare the Christmas meal-and they wanted to be out of the Mansion before her turkey fryer could burn it down.

Surprisingly, Kid just missed Patty leading a cow through the mansion. When he came out of the shower, all he found was an odd path of three pairs of feet and what looked like a thick object dragging behind, and a thin object dragged behind, too. His left eye twitched at the discursive pattern these markings produced, hardly aesthetically pleasing at all. But he knew this problem could be corrected easily: he would ask the staff to vacuum and comb the carpet before their Christmas Eve departure. What had him more concerned was the amount of short black and white hairs he saw along this path. He grimaced, looked at a nearby mirror, and tugged at his own hair: was stress making his hair fall out?

Meanwhile, Patty looked down at the shimmering rock Moo-nica had brought. "Good girl!" she said to the cow, patting her head after bringing her back to her pen, the refrigerator handle still dragged along by her. Patty then felt something accumulate on her hand: black and white hair, from petting this cow for so long. "Oh, Moo-nica!" Patty said, concerned. "You keep being this stressful, all your hair is going to fall out, girl!" She smiled. "I'll put you in for a vacation!"

Patty then reached down beside her and pulled her new weapon: a hatchet. "Now that the rock is here, I just need the bird's neck on it!" Patty held up her hatchet with glee, just the kind of image any bystander would want to see. Yet her smile lasted only until she realized she was missing something. She tugged at her sweater and realized she was poorly dressed to engage in such a bloody, messy activity as beheading a turkey. Her smile returned, however, when she realized she had just the outfit for such an occasion, one appropriate for turkey killing.

Before Kid had left his bedroom after changing clothes-thanks to how meticulous he was this particular moment to make sure his shoes were equally shines, his suit pressed and folded for optimum symmetry, and that indeed he was not going bald-Patty had already entered her bedroom, changed, and exited, wearing attire that she thought was appropriate for killing a turkey: a long-sleeve black jacket with long white sleeves at the wrists and a large white collar, baggy black slacks ending at the shins for knee-high white socks, dainty shoes each with a large gold buckle, a belt with an equally large gold buckle, and a flat-brim black hat.

"This pilgrim is ready to kill!" Patty shouted, before she dashed down the stairs back to the kitchen where her victim waited.

After that shout, Kid poked his head out of his bedroom's doorway. He still had not yet put on his jacket or tie, and he was too distracted fixing his hair to discern what he heard. But he could sense Patty's soul-and the vibe it was giving him was enough to get him to finish dressing and head downstairs. He got to the entrance of the kitchen, where he inched along the hallway wall before looking around the corner.

And an explosion of bright feathers covered his face.

"Stop squirming, Mr. Gobbles!" Patty instructed, struggling to hold the screaming turkey as she opened his cage. "The death will be quick and painful!"

"Patty?!"

That cry got Mr. Gobbles to stop screaming and fidgeting. It also left Patty feeling like hell was about to break loose upon her.

Kid was standing before her and the bird, seething, the feathers stuck in his hair and along his jacket.

Patty slowly reached for the hatchet she left on the kitchen table and, gingerly holding it by the blade to avoid slicing her hand, tried to brush the feathers away with the wooden handle. This lasted for three seconds before Kid seized the hatchet, still careful not to slice Patty's hand, but brought the handle over his knee and snapped it in half.

"Hey!" Patty shouted. "I only have six of those left! Be careful!"

But the Grim Reaper was up at her face, steam practically pouring from his nose. "What is this?"

Patty smiled and held up Mr. Gobbles. "Dinner! It's still really fresh, so you'll have to give me some time to prepare it."

If the staff was not awake already, Kid's loud scream of annoyance got them up-and packed, down the stairs, and out the door to leave this mansion before any more pre-Christmas nonsense started up.

Elsewhere, Liz was still asleep, shaking off her hangover.


	13. Patty Thompson (Part 5)

"Of all the reckless, incompetent, foolhardy endeavors you have ever undertaken, this is by far at least in the top five!"

Kid's shoulders were shaking as he finished his tirade.

Patty was clutching Mr. Gobbles under one arm. The bird was nervously looking at her, his future executioner, and still struggling to escape death. Patty simply held tighter to the turkey and pointed a finger upwards, as if to ask to interrupt Kid's complaints. "What about that time I converted the staircase into a slip and slide?"

"That is still number three on that list!" Kid shouted back.

"Shush!" Patty commanded. She then whispered, "You'll wake up the staff!"

"Did you not just see them all leave?! When they learned last week that you would be in charge of cooking Christmas dinner, they practically threw their vacation request forms at me en masse!"

Kid then looked at the turkey. "Why a live turkey?!"

"The supermarket got angry at me for threatening customers, so they stuck me with a turkey much fresher than I wanted." Patty held the bird up for Kid to examine.

Kid stared at the sides of the turkey. Then he smile. Then he started chuckling. Patty looked concerned at her meister. Then he was silent. Then he started cackling. "Um, Kid? You usually don't go into hysterics until after I do something _really_ dumb."

"Okay!" Kid said, clutching his torso to hold back the remaining laughs. "Now-Now this makes sense! The supermarket tricked you, but you're too stubborn to admit that you can't handle making Christmas dinner."

Patty's eyes widened.

"It's okay," Kid reassured her. "You can admit defeat." He stood up straight again, rubbing the tears of laughter out of both eyes. "There are other options for Christmas dinner. Maybe Chinese? Or fried chicken?"

When Kid returned his gaze to Patty, he stopped smiling. Her eyes pierced into his soul and her teeth were bared as she let out a low growl.

Kid was silent for a moment. Then he frowned. "Please," he began. "You do not still intend to attempt to make Christmas dinner. How are you going to kill that turkey?"

"With this!" Patty screamed, holding up a hatchet.

Kid looked confused, his eyes moving to the floor where he left the previous hatchet. Then he sighed. "Right. You did say you had more of those." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "But you yourself are not willing to kill a turkey."

"Yes, I am!" Patty exclaimed. "I've killed plenty of things!"

"People. You killed people. People specifically assigned to assassinate. Not turkeys."

Patty rolled her eyes. "You justify killing humans, but not turkeys? Real good priorities, Kiddo-such a great role model for the youth of America!" She held the bird closer to Kid. "I even gave him a name!"

"You don't give turkeys names."

"It's Mr. Gobbles."

"When you name it, then you can't bear to kill it."

"I can kill anything with a name!" Patty looked around the hallway, where she spotted a vase. She marched towards it, as she still clutched Mr. Gobbles under her arm. "I name this vase Gwendolyn!" She then pushed the vase off its pedestal, letting it fall and smash across the floor. "Now Gwendolyn is dead! I let Gwen die!" She marched back and faced Kid. "See?!"

Kid knew he should be outraged that Patty destroyed that rare Qing-dynasty porcelain vase. But he was spending too much time kicking himself and realizing that he really should have anticipate Patty's reaction. He sighed. "Patty? We kill those that Father assigns us to kill. No one else. Yes, we eat meat. Yes, we are not vegetarians. But you just named a turkey, who is obviously terrified of you."

"Mr. Gobbles loves me!"

The turkey was pecking desperately at Patty's wrist, cutting along her hand as blood dripped out.

Kid's eye twitched. "Patty, this is not like someone on Father's Kill List-"

"Oh!" Patty exclaimed, smiling. "Good idea!"

Kid's eyes widened as he felt Patty's hand go into his pocket. "What are you doing?!"

Patty frowned. "Don't flatter yourself." She stuck out her tongue as she concentrated on what to find. "Not that, not that-" Kid's eyes then shut. Patty blushed. "Nope. Not that." Then she smiled. "Got it!"

Her hand pulled out of Kid's pants and retrieved a pocket mirror. She held it up in front of Kid's face, the mirror surface reflecting her face and blocking Kid right at his eyes. With a flick of her thumb, the mirror's surface dissolved to black.

"Hey, Lord Death? You online?"

The screen glowed, the mirror surface rippled like water in a pond, and the black was replaced with a man in a black cloak and a skull mask. "Patty!" Lord Death said, his voice high-pitched and jovial. "Merry Christmas Eve! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Patty giggled and held up the turkey to the screen. "I have a live turkey here I want to kill, but the whiny fruit of your loins says I need you to put his name on your kill list!"

The eyes on Lord Death's skull mask blinked. "I can't put Kiddo's name on my kill list!"

Patty laughed. "No, silly! The turkey's name!"

The eyes on the mask blinked again. "You named the turkey?"

"Mr. Gobbles!" Patty answered.

"Oh!" Lord Death said cheerily. "That makes more sense!"

Lord Death held up his oversized, foam right hand, where appeared a long list of those targets he ordered his students to assassinate. "Let's see...Where's a blank space...Ah!" He then conjured a pen from his other hand and wrote something down. "There! I've penciled him in between Frey D. Sadoko and...someone who's name I can't make out. Hmm...Must have smudged the ink...Oh well!"

Lord Death then clapped his hands together, dissolving the list and pen, and pointed his index fingers at Patty. "Go get 'em, girl!" he shouted. Then the eyes on his mask narrowed into slits, his face approached the screen until only those eyes filled the mirror, and his voice deepened into a growl as he concluded, "Mr. Gobbles, I condemn you to death."

Then, all at once, the mirror then black, then slowly faded back to the reflection of a pleased and smiling Patty-and a terrified turkey. As Patty lowered the mirror, however, she could still see Lord Death's angry eyes-because they were now on Kid's face. Patty looked confused, down at the mirror, and back up to Kid's eyes. She held the mirror back over his eyes and said, "Anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like Lord Death?"

Patty felt a sting of pain as Kid slapped the mirror out of her hand, sending it into the wall.

"Kid!" Patty screamed, holding her hand while keeping the terrified Mr. Gobbles in place under her armpit. "You'll get seven years bad luck breaking a mirror like that!"

"I should be so lucky it is only seven with you and your nonsense!" Kid bellowed. Kid then looked dumbfounded at her outfit. "Why are you dressed like a pilgrim?"

"You're only noticing now?" Patty asked.

Kid's furious eyes returned. Patty sweated and shrugged. "How else do you dress to kill a turkey?"

"But why would you be dressed as a pilgrim if this is for Christmas?!"

Patty frowned. "One, because what else do you wear before your cruelly execute a turkey? And two, because Thanksgiving is part of Christmas."

"No, it isn't!"

"Then why do all the stores already have Christmas stuff before Thanksgiving is even concluded?"

"Because we are a greedy society that has to force-feed holiday cheer down each other's throats to make more money and drive people into Christmas depression long before the actual holiday ever comes!" Kid shouted, before he began hyperventilating.

In the face of Kid's anger, Patty still wore the same calm frown, all the more humorous as she was still dressed like a pilgrim. "You just hate the Baby Jesus, don't you, Kiddo?"

Kid stopped hyperventilating. He stayed motionless for three seconds. Then his hands slowly and steadily reached out to Patty, picked Mr. Gobbles out of her hands, as he brought the surprisingly calm turkey under his right arm. The entire time, he was staring only into Patty's eyes. Kid then cross his right leg over his left and spun at his heels for a perfect 90-degree turn. He slowly walked perpendicular to Patty to the hallway wall. Then Kid proceeded to knock his forehead against the wall. As he did so, he chanted quietly to himself: "I hate the holidays, I hate the holidays, I hate the holidays."

Patty watched Kid's self-harm for about a minute before it got boring.

"What is with all of that banging?" someone called from down the hall, before she let out a loud yawn. It was Kid's other weapon partner and Patty's sister, Liz. She was still in her pajama bottoms and tank top, without shoes or socks, her hair frizzy and in a thousand directions, and her eyes puffy.

Patty then looked at her wristwatch. "Hmm...6:57." She smiled widely. "You're up early!"

"Ha ha," Liz replied sarcastically as, with shoulders hunched over, she dragged her feet up to Patty and stood before her. She said nothing about her sister's attire. Instead, her head slowly turned to the left to see Kid still slamming his head against the hallway. Then she slowly turned her head back to face Patty. "Why is Kid holding a turkey?" Liz then looked Patty up and down and saw the hatchet in her right hand. Liz then waved at her wrist, as if dismissing Patty to leave. "Nevermind, I understand now."

Liz yawned again, put her hands to her lower back, and stretched. Her eyes opened wider as she then pulled her arms over her head to stretch some more. She then called to Kid, as she sounded more awake, "Could you stop that? You're going to give me a headache."

"I already have a headache!" Kid turned his head back to shout at Liz, his eyes furious. Mr. Gobbles let out a small squeak of concern.

"No, me!" Liz corrected, sounding equally as furious now. "I'll get a headache if you keep that up!"

"You're just angry because you haven't had your coffee yet!" Kid shouted back.

"At least I'm not hugging a turkey while banging my head against the wall!"

"Remember when life in this mansion used to make sense?" Patty happily interjected.

"Shut up, Patty!" Liz and Kid both screamed at her.

Mr. Gobbles squeaked again.

Patty frowned. "That's not very Christmas-y. Santa's going to shove a lump of coal up your asses for that one."

"That's not even how that works-" Kid started to say, then gave up. He brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "You know what? Fine." He marched back, shoved Mr. Gobbles back under Patty's left arm, and pointed at her. "Go kill that turkey. See if I care."

"But you do care, so I kinda already see it."

Kid's response was to bite his lower lip, shake throughout his body, and point at finger up at Patty. "Just...Just..." was all Kid could muster before Liz wrapped her fingers along the back of his collar and began to drag him away. He kept chanting "Just...Just..." even as his body was leaning close to the floor, his feet dragging behind him.

"Come on, Kid-you could use some decaf," Liz said.

As Kid and Liz left, Patty leaned a bit, as if trying to watch them as they passed around the corner of the hallway and down to the kitchen. She waited until Kid's chant of "Just...Just..." was no longer audible. Then a wide smile formed on her face. She put the hatchet under her arm and, with both hands, held up Mr. Gobbles to her face. "Well, time to die and dine, buddy!" she called, as she marched to the front door and towards the side-yard.

As the front door shut behind her, she was unable to hear Kid's screech: "What happened to the fridge?!"


	14. Anya Hepburn

Anya Hepburn pushed the red cap out of her face and tried to adjust the fake eyeglasses.

"I hate you three so much."

"I think you look cute, Anya!" Ao Hoshino offered.

"You would think the rotting carcass of a reindeer was cute, you twit!"

"Easy, girl," Meme Tatane commanded. Then she giggled. "Or should I say, 'Mister'?" She couldn't contain herself: she grab her belly and started laughing uproariously.

Anya had to be held back by Ao and Tsugumi Harudori. "It's for a good cause!" Tsugumi shouted, taking one of Anya's red-suit-clad arms.

"Yes!" Ao added. Then a thought sprung to her, as a sly smile formed on her lips. "You'll be the envy of all commoners."

Anya stopped moving-as Tsugumi had tried to pull her back, causing Tsugumi's backside to fall onto her own bed, and Anya to fall into her lap. " 'Commoners'?" Anya asked.

Tsugumi looked confusedly at Ao, while Meme was still slapping her hand along her desk, cackling.

"Santa Claus is the veritable icon of Christian children, even many non-Christian children in the United States. He is the common factor to all of their hopes and dreams in the holiday season, representing joy, compassion, and selflessness, all traits you would now represent by putting on this garish red suit."

Anya was now smiling, her eyes shining. "Really?"

Tsugumi was too dumbstruck at how easily Anya was being taken in to bother asking her meister to get off her lap. She simply rolled her eyes and let Ao persist:

"But for him to represent this bounty of good cheer, he has to be a symbol of abundance." Ao then moved her hand to Anya's bed, taking from it one pillow. "Hence his sizeable girth."

With that, Ao pulled Anya's red suit jacket-and shoved the pillow down, forcibly.

"Ouch!" Anya shouted. "What are you doing?!"

"We lack the time to increase your weight, so we will have to fake it," Ao said.

Anya was squirming in Tsugumi's lap, finally forcing the weapon to push her off of her and scurry away, distancing herself by hiding behind Meme's bed. For her part, Meme was now laughing all the more loudly.

"Stop that!" Anya commanded. "This is most uncomfortable! Why can't we just have someone else who is more heavy-set take on this role?!"

"The mall needs a Santa for their charity event," Ao explained, "and you lost the straw-draw."

"I didn't understand it meant getting the longest! You all tricked me!"

"We said 'longest' four times," Tsugumi muttered. "It's not our fault that you were too fixated on going over the rules repeatedly and asking why it had to be straws."

"I can hear you, Tsugumi!" Santa Anya cried, prompting Tsugumi to squeak and lower her head further.

"There!" Ao said, still smiling, but huffing and puffing with each breath, struggling to calm herself. "You now have gained 40 pounds in less than a minute!"

"You're about to lose half your weight when I bisect you!" Anya shouted, as she stood up-and had a prodigious pillow-created belly bump. Meme had stopped laughing at this point; this new sight only worsened her experience.

"And the glasses you wear will help to hold up your beard," Ao continued.

Anya was practically grinding her teeth-then looked confused at Ao's remark. " 'Beard'?"

Before Anya could receive an answer, the elastic attached to wooly white mass was already around her head, the beard snapping under nose with a hard smack.

"Meme and Tsugumi," Ao said, turning and gesturing to Anya. "Let me introduce the Decadent Mall's newest addition, Santa Claus himself."

Tsugumi politely clapped at the transformation of her friend, while Meme was on the floor, struggling to breathe.

Anya's face was as red as her suit, her fists to her sides, her body shaking with anger. "You are getting sick pleasure at my expense, aren't you?"

Ao's friendly smile remained, but the stars in her eyes flashed with devilish glee. "Why, whatever do you mean?"


	15. Patty Thompson (Part 6)

The side yard of Gallows Mansion was deathly silent. Surrounding the large stone deposited there, was only red. No turkey was present. The hatchet was laid to the side of the stone. The work had been done.

Conflicted, Patty laid on her back in that red. She picked up some of that red, holding it between her fingers, studying its veins, noticing how the Sun's light shined through it like a piece of glass.

She sighed. She set that red leaf, left over from all the other leaves that fell in autumn, where she had grabbed it, from the pile of leaves atop of which she had planted that zen garden rock. She was going to use that rock to hold down Mr. Gobbles's neck, behead him, and get to work on her meal.

Instead, the rock was as white as when she brought it out. No blood was on it. No hatchet cut through any flesh.

Patty Thompson was defeated. Her chest deflated. Her eyes were hollow.

And what was worse, that fucking bird was now standing atop her shoulder again, pecking at her pilgrim's vest.

* * *

"I hate you so much," she muttered.

She brushed the bird off her shoulder, sending Mr. Gobbles into the air a bit as he flapped his wings to land a few feet away from her, landing atop the rock.

"How can your puny little wings even get you in the air?" Patty asked. "I must know nothing about turkeys."

Patty bite her lip. She thought for a few seconds. About a minute later, she reached a conclusion:

"Or you're defective."

She sat up; leaves and dirt coated the back of her black attire, the dirt clinging while the leaves almost immediately fell away.

"Yeah. That has to be it. That's why I can't kill you."

Without looking to her left, her hand groped along the ground, dirt jumping up under her nails until her fingers found and wrapped themselves around the hatchet's handle. At the same time, she put her right knee under her and stood up.

She sniffed. "Not like I'm worried about killing you. Lord Death told me I could do it. Said I should do it. He said 'should,' right? I mean, it was implied, wasn't it?"

She heard a small chirp, as a tiny chick hopped along in front of her.

"Don't give me that, Booker," she muttered at the chick. "I'm not a grammatology expert or something."

She stood up straight, tapping the handle against her other hand.

"It's not like I'm worried about killing an animal. I eat meat. I chopped a pig in half-and he talked! I roasted that motherfucker and ate him. I mean, Kilik roasted it-but I still did a lot of the punching to tenderize it." She sat up a bit, tugging at her pilgrim's suit. "Of course, I looked different at that point. No boobs, for instance. But just 'cause the body changed between now and then doesn't mean I don't want to still kill you!"

She gripped the hatchet, held it over her head, turned, and saw her target.

"So why not just kill you?!"

Mr. Gobbles, atop the rock, froze.

She had her chance.

So she took it.

* * *

Bacon was sizzling. Liz studied it. Just a little longer.

Next to her, Kid was staring out the window. His face was pale. He could feel his tongue drying out.

"Shut your mouth already," Liz commanded. She had turned away from the stovetop and stared at him. "You look awful."

He was silent for a few moments. Finally, he responded: "So does your sister."

Liz rolled her eyes and smirked. "She's fine."

"She covering her face. Her shoulders are shaking."

Liz stopped smirking. Her eyes, although tired without sleep and still shaking off the hangover, grew more attentive. She took off the oven mitt and looked at what Kid saw.

Then her face fell. "Are you kidding me?"

Mr. Gobbles was sitting atop the fence post to the cow's pen, flapping its wings.

"Is it really that hard to kill a turkey?" Liz asked.

"Evidently," Kid said. "She's been sobbing for about five minutes."

Liz put a hand to her head. "So she's not going to kill it?"

"No."

Liz groaned. "We're going to be stuck with a crappy Christmas dinner. You know how much crap Black Star is going to give you over this? I'm going to have to hear him and Soul and Angela whine all through dinner-or not-dinner or whatever you want to call it."

"Then don't eat all the bacon-we'll need some meat for the dinner."

"Fuck you," Liz said, turning back to the bacon and lowering the heat on the stove. Her hangover-induced desire for protein beat out any worries she had about whining.

"Well, what else do you have in mind?" Kid asked. "What are we supposed to serve for Thanksgiving if not turkey?"

"Christmas, not Thanksgiv-"

"You know what I meant!"

"Don't shout at me!" Liz shouted back, taking her mitt to the skillet and dropping its contents alongside her waffles, eggs, and hashbrowns. "You don't like it, just order Chinese or something tomorrow."

"But I'm not in charge of this meal-Patty is!"

" 'Cause you let her, Kid." Then Liz sat up straight, clicked her heels together, and set her shoulders evenly across. " 'Patricia, if you can actually prepare a Christmas meal, I will eat my words.'" She then pointed each of her index fingers in the air, keeping her arms perfectly symmetrical with each other. " 'I will dismiss the staff, so that Christmas dinner is all on you. Prove me wrong.'"

Liz then slouched and let out a groan. "That was you," she muttered, as she picked up her plate and dragged her feet to the kitchen table, where glasses of orange juice, water, and milk waited for her, along with a large cup of black coffee.

Kid frowned. "Isn't that too much for just one breakfast?"

"Isn't that too much snark for just one tiny asshole like you?" Liz replied, taking up her fork and knife, slicing her bacon and waffles and shoving both in her mouth. "Freaking Tsubaki needs a shoulder to cry on, we get smashed, I have a headache, and you're going to lecture me when your plan just blew up in your face."

Kid glared at her. But he had nothing to say. His eyes drifted back to the side-yard-and grew large.

"Oh, God, she's yelling at the cow now."

Through the window, Kid could hear Patty's muffled cries: "Don't give me that nonsense, Moo-nica! If I didn't need your milk for supper tomorrow, you'd be a cheeseburger with fries right now!" She then turned her stinging red eyes to the chicks, and as she wiped the snot from her nose, shouted at them: "With a side of nuggets!"

Kid buried his face in his hands. "This is not the Christmas Eve I wanted. Maybe Father has a mission I could do instead to get out of this house…"

"He's not going to be happy to know you didn't bring turkey to his dinner tomorrow night?" Liz replied. A smile formed as took a sip of coffee, letting a drop of it fall out the corner of her mouth and down her neck-not bothering to wipe it off. She set down her cup. "Especially since he did command Patty to kill that turkey and all. 'Public Enemy #1' and instead you morons practically gave that bird a pardon."

The only reply Kid offered was his head knocking against the window.

Meanwhile, Patty was knocking her head against one of the posts to Moo-nica's pen, as she chanted, "I hate that bird, I hate that bird, I hate that bird."

The bird sat at the top of that post, looking down with confusion at the girl who exonerated him.


	16. Tsubaki Nakatsukasa (Part 1)

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa undressed. She set her clothes in the basket and set them on the bench labeled "Tsubaki." There were two other baskets next to hers: one labeled "Angela," another with just a big star on it. Inside each basket was a set of clothes, equally filthy: Angela Leon's still had dirt marks from her scuffle at school today with a classmate (she was taking after her two fathers in all the wrong ways), and Black Star's had a bit of blood (he insisted it was his opponent, but after what Maka Albarn claimed he had to say about Kana Altair, she knew it was not Misery's).

She sighed. "Day before Christmas, and this is what I have to do?"

She shook that thought away. She'd bring the clothes down to the basement laundry room after her wash. She had finished the courses to bring over to Kid's dinner tomorrow, but there was still so much to do, and the work was getting on her nerves. At the fifth time she failed to get the food storage container to close just right, her meister's hands laid over her own, gently moved them aside, as he told her to take a break.

"I'll put Angela to bed to finish the last of the Christmas Eve wrapping." And she remembered his usual wide grin. "Angela finished her bath, and I'm not taking one tonight since I want to get one last workout tonight-so you go!"

Tsubaki appreciated the gesture, really. But the thought of sleeping next to Black Star, after his workout without a bath, did not appeal to her. "Take the bath," Tsubaki insisted, smiling. "I can stand a little cold water."

But it was too late: Black Star had already shoved her, tipping her back as the heels of her feet dragged along the floor. That was bad enough; when he was trying to pull up her shirt and pull down her jeans to help her undress all the faster, now that was embarrassing. One fist down to his head managed to knock him facedown to the floor. "Sorry," she said, sweetly, but with enough of an edge to remind him about boundaries. "I'll be short in the bath: I promise."

"No problem," Black Star said-or muffled, his lips planted against the floor. He gave a thumbs up. "Take all the time you need."

Tsubaki looked at him. The Christmas lights along the upper corners of their small apartment were shining along his hair. She chuckled a bit. "Finish the decorations, too," she added. She pushed a bit of hair out of her face before she cooed, seductively, "We still need mistletoe."

Black Star's head shot up. But she had already disappeared into the bathroom before he had a chance. He frowned. "Why's she still got to be better at pulling disappearing acts than me?"

He then figured, as he was flat against the floor anyway, he might as well get in a few pushups. He'd need to, if he was going to show Angela how wrong she was.


	17. Tsubaki Nakatsukasa (Part 2)

In the living room of their small apartment, Black Star was scheming. He had tiptoed to the new bedroom they had made for Angela-a tiny one, one that now made his and Tsubaki's room even tinier, but still, at least a private room for the little ankle-biter-and knocked. "Angie?" Black Star said in a sing-song voice. "It's time."

The door slid open a crack. The tiny witch's left eye glared at him. "No."

He pouted. "Pleeeeeeease?" he pleaded.

With a groan, she threw open the door. "He's never going to show up, because he's just a figment of your imagination." She stamped her feet as she exited and walked by him-but then she felt his hands pick her up under her armpits and lift her. "Put me down!" she commanded.

"Nah-uh!" Black Star teased. He then flipped a switch on the wall, turning off all lights in the room except for the Christmas lights along the ceiling.

"What are you-?"

Before Angela could finish, Black Star had pinched her lips. He put a finger to his own lips, his sneer frightening her. "Can't have you alerting Santa before I prove he's real!"

Angela tugged her lips free from his fingers and glared. "He's not real!"

"None of that!" he commanded, as he tapped a finger along her head. "He totally is, and you're totally going to meet him. Now, do what a ninja is supposed to do, and shut the hell up so we don't alert him to our presence."

Angela just stared at him. She didn't even need to say it.

"Don't look at me like that!" he shouted. "I'm plenty quiet!"

"If I looked up ninja in the thesaurus, you know what the antonym would be?" Angela asked. "Black Star!"

"I don't get that joke, and you should shut up!" he replied.

"Make me!"

"You make me!"

And this was the person in charge of raising this witch. The DWMA's policies on adoption were in dire need of revision.


	18. Meme Tatane

"What did you ask me?"

Tsugumi Harudori blinked. "I was asking how your Christmas shopping was going."

Meme Tatane was now sweating.

"Meme?" Tsugumi asked, her voice getting a bit more serious. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"

Her friend tapped her fingers nervously along the cafeteria table, as she put on a false smile. " 'Christmas'? What is this 'Christmas' that you speak of?"

"Meme!" Anya Hepburn shouted. "You don't have memory loss as an excuse any more! You very well know that there are only three days left before Christmas!" She sighed, calming herself down. She then flipped her hair back. "I guess I should not be surprised. I see that of her two meisters-"

"Three," Tsugumi corrected happily as she held up that number of fingers-until Anya glared at her. Then Tsugumi, blushing, lowered one finger and returned to sipping, loudly, on her almost empty cup of soda.

Anya continued: "I see that of her _two_ meisters, Tsugumi is rubbing off more onto you, Meme, than onto me. Her lack of preparedness is why she is still scrambling to do last-minute shopping-"

"Hey!" Tsugumi shot back.

"While I finished my holiday shopping weeks ago," Anya said, wearing a smug grin at her accomplishment. "What do you have to say about that?"

Meme stared, blankly, at Anya. "Oh, I'm sorry, who are you again?"

Anya then screamed and slammed her head down at the table, while Meme chuckled at her deception.

"Not funny, Meme," Tsugumi intoned, as she returned to her soda.

"It was kind of funny," Meme responded.

"No, it wasn't," Anya said, her voice muffled against the table.


	19. Tsubaki Nakatsukasa (Part 3)

Tsubaki's muscles had relaxed. She let out a sigh of relief as she finished drying. In the changing room, as she put on her kimono, she was meticulously reviewing the tasks ahead of her: make sure the food for tomorrow was properly chilled, finish putting up a few surprise decorations before Angela awoke, finish wrapping Angela and Black Star's gifts, and make sure Black Star didn't do anything foolish while she was bathing. Oh, and she had to bring their clothes down to the basement for washing. She removed the three trays for herself, Angela, and Black Star, stacked them atop each other, and took them to the door. She slid open the door.

"Crap!"

She heard her meister's worried exclamation before she finished opening the door. She felt tension return to her muscles. She put on a bright smile and an affected pleasant voice. "Black Star?" she asked, waiting to hear what excuse he had to offer.

He was already in front of her, clutching her shoulders, causing her to knock down the trays of clothes.

"Hey!" she called, as she knocked his hand back. "What's gotten into you?"

"N-Nothing!" Black Star said, waving his hands. "Everything is fine here!" He gulped and smiled widely. "H-How are you?"

She smile was gone. Her eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

Black Star was shaking as he put his left hand over his chest and raised his right hand. "I swear, this one is not my fault!" He paused. Then he shrieked and pointed behind him. "It was Angela! She did it! It wasn't my fault!"

"Liar!"

A small leg kicked into his shin, causing him to shriek again.

"He takes that medicine all the time, and it doesn't even make him sleepy!" Angela shouted.

Tsubaki held up her hands. "Wow, wait-one at a time! What is-?"

"I told you that medicine is a lot stronger for me!" Black Star shouted. "I need really strong stuff 'cause the pain I get needs something wrong!"

"You never said that before!" Angela countered.

"So I wouldn't worry you!"

"I'm not worried about you, you dummy!" Angela shouted back.

"You kept asking, 'Is that arm going to heal?' when I came back with this thing"-he then clutched his arm-"was flapping and waving 'cause a goddamn Kishin fucking broke it!"

"Tsubaki!" Angela shouted. "Black Star is cursing!"

"Tattletale!"

"You just did it in front of her!"

"Still a tattletale!"

"Shuuuuuuuuuuuuut uuuuuuuuup!"

When Tsubaki let out that yell, Angela was in the middle of tugging on one of Black Star's fingers that he pointed in her voice, and in retaliation the meister had his hand shoved into her chin. But when Tsubaki screamed, both were frozen, staring at the very angry weapon.

"You!" Tsubaki pointed at Black Star's face. "Medicine! Explain!"

Black Star stopped pushing Angela's head and stood erect-his hands slapping to his sides, but Angela's fingers still wrapped around his own, slamming the girl into his shins and causing her to get a dazed look of pain on her face. Black Star then saluted and explained: "Sir! The medicine Naigus prescribed to me said take two, sir!"

Tsubaki was frowning. "I said explain."

Black Star threw up his hands-throwing Angela around, too, as she in her daze still was not releasing his finger. "I am! The bottle says 'take two,' but since I'm such a god"-he then flexed his muscles, swinging Angela again over him until finally her grip released, sending her sailing into the wall (good thing witches are durable)-"taking two is, like, putting someone into a coma!"

Tsubaki felt a headache coming. She put a hand to her forehead. "Angela? Translate?"

Angela, collapsed on the floor, crawled to Black Star's feet-and slammed a fist onto his uncovered toes. As the ninja yelped and started hopping on one foot while clutching the damaged toes on the other one, Angela explained: "I wanted to prove Santa wasn't real! But then Black Star said"-and she imitated a gruff voice-" 'I'm gonna prove Santa is real, yahoo!' And then-so I had put the medicine into the milk because I thought, well, if someone did come in and actually drink it, then they wouldn't be able to leave until morning, so I could check and-"

Tsubaki's eyes widened. She glanced behind Angela to the table, where the set of cookies and milk Black Star had left were still there-only one bite was taken from the cookie, and half the milk had been drunk. The dots were connecting, and Tsubaki was screaming internally.

"Please tell me someone didn't drink that medicine-spiked milk," she squeaked.

Angela poked her fingers together. Black Star had stopped hopping and looked scared.

"Black Star?" Tsubaki asked. "Did you drink that milk?"

Black Star, still clutching his toes, nervously shook his head.

Tsubaki was sweating as she looked around Black Star to see the shadow of someone in the darkness. "Then...who did?"

Black Star slowly lowered his foot and brought his hands together to clap. The lights turned on. Seated in the corner of their apartment, roped to a chair so he wouldn't lash out upon awakening, knocked out from a large dose of painkillers, was an overweight bearded man in a red suit.

"Merry Christmas?" Black Star and Angela both said, their voices cracking, waving their hands as they tried to fake their smiles.

Tsubaki stared at the figured in the chair. Then she buried her head in her hands. "I'm going to need another long bath."


	20. Death the Kid (Part 1)

_I'm not sure where this is going-so I'll blame it on a conversation with kallexnuh on Tumblr._

* * *

"Merry Christmas, Kid!"

It was Death the Kid's third Christmas. As with the previous years, Lord Death insisted on having the gifts wrapped inside the Death Room. Yes, it was in a workplace setting rather than in the comforts of his mansion. But Lord Death also wanted to give every opportunity for Kid to feel that this chamber, that would one day be his own workplace, was as much his space.

Plus, having Christmas unwrapping inside the DWMA meant Lord Death had a chance to parade around his little bundle of joy in front of his employees, at least the ones on duty and not going home for the holiday.

"No Spirit?" Kid asked. His father was holding him up on his shoulder as they rounded by last section of guillotines forming the hallway from the Academy proper to the Death Room's pedestal. Kid was kicking his feet back and forth, swaying his little overall black denim shorts with each kick. He had on his red shirt today, with a zebra on top of it.

" 'Fraid not, Kiddo," Lord Death said. "He's at home with his own little tyke." He then took one of his foam fingers and gently poked it into Kid's nose, causing the child to giggle. "But look who is here!"

At the pedestal were a handful of the DWMA staff, here because it was their day for work, because they had nowhere else to be for the day, or because they enjoyed the company that Christmas afforded them. From his father's shoulder, Kid's eyes widen and his jaw hung open at getting to see a few of Lord Death's friends present-and all the presents they had left under the tree. Some gifts were for each other as part of the Secret Santa festivities; but Kid also knew some of the gifts were for him. Lord Death could feel his son bobbing up and down excitedly, his hand reaching out already at the boxes wrapped in bright paper.

"Ease up, Kiddo!" Lord Death gently demanded. "You'll get to open the gifts soon!"

Kid stopped bobbing. "Open?" Then Kid, as he was want to do at just age three, alternated back into his more mature demeanor. "But Father, I do not want to open them. I want to fix that paper!"

Lord Death let out a small groan.

"They aren't properly sym-mum-etrical, yet!"

" 'Symmetrical,' Kid."

"That is what I said, Father!"

"Well, you're still working on multisyllabic words, so, points for effort." Lord Death wondered whether Spirit and Kami had these kinds of problems with their daughter. Then again, Maka wasn't one of the first born shinigami, a being who could bounce back and forth between two personalities. First, Kid was practically Lord Death's identical twin, containing within him all the knowledge and techniques of Death himself, checked only by the Lines of Sanzu along his hair, still unconnected and hence only potential power. And second, Kid was still a kid: just because he was a reaper didn't mean he wasn't prone to acting childish. It was why sometimes he could speak as well as someone eight times his own age, and other times, he responded about as well as you could expect of a three-year-old.

"Merry Christmas, Kid!"

Kid's attention turned away from the poorly wrapped but pretty boxes and to the young woman with short blonde hair. She smiled at Kid, giving him attention long before Lord Death. "Or should I say, 'Lord Death the Second'?"

Kid blushed. He was definitely in three-year-old mode right now. "H-Hi…"

"Aw, don't be shy!" Lord Death said, as he picked Kid up and handed him to the woman. "You remember Marie, right?"

Marie Mjolnir took Kid in under his arms-and grunted as she held him. Granted, with her strength, it was largely acting for Kid's amusement. But still, as she said, "My, you have gotten heavier since I last saw you!"

"Your hair is short" was all Kid could choke out, as he look down at her sleeveless dress-her shawl left on the couch Auntie and Pushka had dragged in-and to her feet.

Marie chuckled. "Yeah, I wanted to get it a bit shorter." She brushed aside one of her bangs, her golden eyes studying Kid. "And it looks like you could use a haircut, too! It's getting so long in the back."

Kid started kicking his feet, almost knocking them into Marie's arms. "No no no!" he commanded.

"Huh?" Marie asked. As it was difficult to hold onto the squirming child, she lowered Kid to his feet. The boy was already starting to tear up a bit as he rubbed the back of his hand along his nose and ran towards the couch.

Marie looked at Lord Death. The reaper shrugged. "He's very particular." He then whispered: "I think he's worried it'll turn out badly. Again. If it is just not right, he throws a fit."

Marie stroke a hand through her hair. "Well, we've all been there-with ourselves, I mean, not with kids of our own." She sighed. "Trust me on that one. And Joe's off with family back home, so..."

"Aw," Lord Death said, sympathetically. "You'll get there whenever you want, Sweetie." He clapped his hands together. "These things take time. Look at me-it took me almost 800 years before I decided to become a parent. And a single one at that! Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a child on your own while protecting the world from murderers, monsters, witches, and door-to-door salesmen?"

Marie blinked. "Yeah, one of those things is not like the other."

"Tell that to the last five Death Scouts who stopped by the mansion with their goshdarn cookies," Lord Death said, as he put a hand over his right shoulder and rotated it. "Little squirts bilked me out of 211 dollars with their addictive sugary treats. Little monsters." He then glanced at the boxes under the tree. "Oh, by the way, my Secret Santa gift for Feodor are the Death Mint flavor cookies." He leaned over and whispered. "Don't tell him!"

Marie gave a thumbs up. "No problem."

"Father!"

They turned to look at Kid.

"May we open presents?"

"I don't see why not, Little Reaper!" interrupted Auntie, tickling Kid as he broke out laughing.

"Amazing how quickly kids bounce back," Lord Death reflected as he and Marie went up the pedestal.

"Yes," Marie added. "One minute they're upset about haircuts, the next minute they want to open gifts already."

Kid already was hugging one very large box. "This one! I want this one, first!"

"I had hoped so!" Lord Death said. "That's why I made it obvious!"

The box was the most ornate one under the tree. Its paper was a pale holographic, shimmering with skull shapes and candy canes all over it, topped with a bright red bow as big as Kid's head.

"Open it up, Young Master!" Tsar Pushka bellowed. "And we shall wait for you to finish."

At that point, Feodor spit up his drink. "Um, that's, well, that is to say-um, that is kind of a bad idea, isn't it?"

Lord Death's mask was already grimacing. "Yes, Feodor, Pushka's stupid remark really was."

Pushka frowned. "What is wrong with letting the child take his time?"

Marie's left eye was twitching. "You weren't here for his birthday four months ago."

Auntie had a handkerchief to her face as she started sobbing. "It took him an hour just to unwrap one gift!" She blew into her cloth. "By the time someone suggested that someone else open up his gifts, Kid wouldn't stop crying! It was torturous!"

"Done!"

The adults stopped their self-pity and looked down. Kid held the box, unwrapped, its paper perfectly laid out, wrinkle free, along the floor.

"Here, Auntie, for you!" Kid held up the red bow, handing it to her. "You look sad, so you should have this."

The adults were dumbfounded.

"Huh," Death said. "He's gotten better at unwrapping, then." His mask them had its eyes squinting with happiness. "Well, son, open up that box, and take out your gift!"

"Yay!" Kid shouted, as he flipped open the box. His smile disappeared almost instantly as a golden light shone out of the box, his eyes having to squint to see it. As Kid recognized the shape, his mouth hung open.

"So, what's so special in that box?" Pushka asked.

Death slowly crossed his arms and chuckled.

"Shorts!"

The adults looked at Kid, beaming with happiness, as he held up a pair of black denim shorts.

"Yep!" Death said. "Shorts! My boy is growing up, so now he gets to graduate out of overalls to shorts! Like a real adult!"

Silence hung as the adults just stared at Death, while Kid was giggling and leaping up and down clutching his new attire.

"Um," Feodor interrupted, "far be it for me to question fashion choices, but what self-respecting adult would wear shorts?"

When Feodor then saw Marie's eyes piercing into his very soul, he quickly shut his mouth and avoided eye contact.

"I love these, Father!" Kid shouted, as he hugged the shorts. "Thank you!"

"Ah, you're welcome, Kiddo!" Lord Death said, picking up his son and giving him a big hug. "Merry Christmas!"

It was indeed a happy time for Kid and Death, as the father knew exactly what to get his son.

Unfortunately, with time, that would not be the case.


	21. Tsubaki Nakatsukasa (Part 4)

Tsubaki pointed at the man tied in the corner of their living room. "If this man is Santa Claus, how is that even possible? How could he get into our apartment?"

"He works in mysterious ways," Black Star replied, wiggling his fingers.

"Well, that's sufficiently blasphemous," Tsubaki said, deadpan. She sighed. "But how do you know this is Santa? It could just be some thief!"

Black Star smiled and pointed a finger at Tsubaki. "I couldn't sense his soul! He's that good! He's got a Soul Protect better than witches!"

Black Star kept smiling even as Angela stamped his foot for that remark.

Tsubaki did not look impressed. "You rarely sense people's souls."

"That's not relevant!" Black Star finally frowned.

"Well," Angela interrupted, as she approached the unconscious man and poked his abdomen. "His belly does wiggle like a bowl full of jelly!" Angela smiled as she looked at the overweight man's girth shake. Then she stopped smiling. Then her eyes glazed over. "It's like a neverending lava lamp of flesh."

Tsubaki could not argue with that point, even as she shook her head out of that hypnotic state. "Are you two listening to yourselves?! You're believing in a childhood fantasy!"

"I'm still a child!" Angela said, raising her hand.

"Just today you said you didn't believe in Santa because of what Kana said to you!"

"And because I never had Santa come visit me!"

Tsubaki stopped glaring, her eyes softening. Black Star even looked concerned.

Angela poked her fingers together. "In the Witches' Realm, no one ever had a story about Santa. I never heard about him until...I was locked away by the gang."

Tsubaki tightened her kimono and got on her knees to get closer to Angela's eye level.

Angela looked down. "One of the people who held me hostage…" She closed her eyes. "He kept watching Christmas specials, and…"

Angela sighed. She tightened her eyes and her fists. "He just kept having the same songs playing, and I never had that kind of...I mean, no one came to give me gifts. It was creepy! Some person who keeps watching cartoons about elves and snowmen and gifts for all-and I didn't get gifts! I got kidnapped! The only time when someone broke into my house, was to kidnap me!"

Angela opened her eyes and pointed out the window. "It was someone like Mifune who broke in to save me!" She then pointed at the man tied in the corner. "Not some Santa! So when I had a real home"-her hand swept around the apart-"without having to pick up and move because another person wanted to steal a witch like me"-she clapped her hand to her chest-"I thought maybe Santa would finally know where to find me!"

Now Angela was crying. "Then Kana said I was too old to believe in Santa!" She sniffed loudly. "No one even let me have a Santa at any point! And I'm told I'm too old! I didn't ask to get something stolen from me I never had!"

Tsubaki drew Angela into her arms, patting her back. She tried to hold back tears. "I'm so sorry, Angela."

Black Star had his hands balled into fists, as he looked up at the man he had tied to the chair. "Really screwed up this time, huh?" he whispered to the man.

Tsubaki rubbed along Angela's back, the witch's tears falling onto the weapon's shoulder. "I know you probably won't believe me, but I know what it's like to have your heart set on something, and it doesn't turn out as you wanted it...And I'm sorry, Angela. I'm so sorry."

"Me, too."

Hearing that deep voice, Tsubaki and Angela let go and looked behind. Black Star stopped looking down at the floor. And a stupid grin came to his face.

"Um," the man in the corner asked. "Could one of you untie me? I'm still a little loopy from whatever you put in that milk, Black Star."

Black Star was quaking with joy, which exploded out of his mouth with a loud shout: "Santa!" The ninja already was atop the man's lap, hugging him. "You're alive! We didn't kill you!"

"Ho ho ho," the man laughed, then grimaced at the third laugh, evidently in pain from his collapse to the floor, if that cut on his forehead was any indication. "Uh, it'll take more than your weak muscles to kill the embodiment of joy and charity!"

Then Santa looked down to see Tsubaki and Angella. And he grew more somber. "Oh," he began. "Well, hello, Tsubaki."

The weapon clutched Angela, bringing her closer to her.

Santa Claus smiled. "It's been a long time."


	22. Death the Kid (Part 2)

At age four, Kid had his cowboy obsession. So for the holiday party-moved up a week, as it was harder to get all employees together at once, as they now had their own families-the Death Scythes' gifts were chosen accordingly: cowboy hat, rocking horse, and a lasso. When Spirit offered to buy toy guns, Lord Death drew the line: "We can't have him imitating what's on TV! Those are dangerous weapons that need proper training!"

Along with those cowboy outfits came one last gift from Lord Death, an early Christmas gift for Kid kept in the biggest, most shining box. Kid was hopping up and down, knocking the cowboy hat in front of his face with his jumps. "Easy, Jack Rabbit!" Lord Death said, holding Kid back while Spirit brought the box to him. The other Death Scythes at the holiday party watched as Kid lifted the box's cover; Lord Death had figured out it was best to have a box rather than the struggle of Kid spending hours carefully removing the wrapping paper.

Kid's face was bright with anticipation-until he saw inside. "Oh," he said, as he reached into the big box to pull out a pair of shorts.

"Aren't they just so adorable?" Lord Death cooed, as he put his hands to his face and was practically swaying his hips. "And there are seven more pairs like that inside, Kiddo."

Tsar was the first to speak up. "How is this cute?"

Spirit tapped his mentor playfully on the arm. "Hey, you become a parent, you'll get it."

"Hmph," Tsar pouted as he crossed his arms. "I taught you and that Stein kid so much, and look how you two turned out. If I had kids like you, I'd go gray."

"You already are going gray!" Marie said, smiling despite the large bandage over her eye.

Tsar could not help grimacing at little at the sight of her, regret seizing his heart. He forced a smile. "Having to babysit you lot, no wonder."

Lord Death chuckled at this discussion-until he felt Kid's small hand tugging down at his cloak. "Father?" Kid asked. "Can I watch some of The Lone Ranger?"

"Sure, Kiddo!" He picked Kid up to bring him to the TV setup with the yule log broadcasting. "But don't you have something to say about your best gift?"

Kid blushed a bit.

"Kiddo?"

"T-Thank you for the shorts," he said, hesitantly.

"You're welcome!"

The next year, at age 5, Kid was now already enrolled in target practice classes. Spirit was dumbfounded: toy guns were not okay, but gun training was? Lord Death reminded Spirit of Kid's abilities and the need for training now. And it was gun _safety_ training, not gun training. It was a struggle, but Kid was adept already, although it took his teacher a long time to realize that the child would actually train better with two guns, not one.

Despite Kid growing up faster than expected, the Death Scythes for the holiday party chose gifts that would suit someone of elementary school age. From Spirit, numerous books on various subjects. Kid was most interested in the books on flowers, fascinated by their many shapes. From the new Death Scythe Azusa Yumi, uncertain what to give a child, cleaning supplies. (Surprisingly, Lord Death admitted, that was on Kid's list to Santa.) Marie couldn't make it-she had claimed work was keeping her busy, while Azusa knew it was actually heartbreak-so she had mailed a gift ahead of time: a plaster foot cast of a rare bunyip she had bagged and tagged last month. Tsar couldn't make it and, in fact, forgot to mail even a Christmas card. Replacement Death Scythes were still being sought for Central America, and the Death Scythes for Western Europe, Africa, and West Asia were busy.

While Kid was putting his hand inside the footprint of the bunyip, Lord Death approaches with a flat box. "For you, Kiddo! Merry Christmas!"

"Oh, good," Kid said, trying to fake some enthusiasm, as he knew what to expect.

And sure enough, it was another pair of shorts. He frowned a bit, holding them up to his waist-which was far too wide-and his legs-which barely reached his knee.

"You'll grow into them!" Lord Death said happily.

Kid tried to match the enthusiasm with a smile. "They're great. Thank you."

At age 6, the new shorts finally got closer to the knee.

At age 7, the shorts were rather garish: who wears red shorts, let alone red pants?

And at age 8, Kid had had it.

"Why is it always shorts?!"

Azusa leaned away from the irate young shinigami. New recruit Tezca Tlipoca stopped shoving snickerdoodles under his mask and into his mouth. Auntie and Spirit stopped their karaoke duet. Joe Buttataki, on a visit to interview Academy recruits for his office, set down his mug of coffee-which, given the poor taste, was actually a reasonable loss.

"And what's wrong with shorts?" Lord Death shot back, a bit offended.

"It's almost winter, and you're still dressing me in shorts! It's embarrassing!"

"We are in the desert, Kid."

"But they make me see my legs!" He tugged up on his pants. "See? They don't look exactly the same at all!" He pointed to a scratch along his left leg. "There is where I tripped coming up the stairs this morning!" And he pointed to a spot on his right leg. "And I think I'm getting a freckle there!"

"I have to agree, Lord Death," Spirit called. "The kid just wants some pants-a decent pair of pants."

"Aw, ease up, Spirit," Joe interrupted, standing up and showing off his attire. "I wear shorts!"

"Yes!" Lord Death said, pointing at Joe. "He's rocking them shorts like a superstar!"

"Aw." Joe rubbed the back of his neck, blushing. Azusa glanced at him, with some confusion: this was the guy who dumped Marie?

"Puh-lease!" Kid was rolling his eyes before pointing at the fashion disaster. "Joe also wears open-toe shoes! They show that thing growing on his big toe!"

Joe stopped smiling. Everyone was now looking at him-then marched up to bend over and examine his feet.

"Oh, hey, he's right!" Spirit exclaimed.

"That is one nasty bungeon forming there!" Death added.

"Or it could be the ingrown toenail on his other foot," Azusa concluded.

"You need a good proctologist, man," Tezca said.

"Podiatrist," Spirit and Azusa corrected simultaneously.

"Why not both?" Tezca said, still shoveling cookies in his mouth.

Joe was now sobbing into his hands.

"Well, congratulations, son," Death said. "You made a full-grown man cry."

Kid was now clenching his teeth. "And you don't even listen to me when I ask for pants!"

The eyeholes in Death's mask narrowed. "I listen! I just think you look cute in shorts!"

"You might as well put me in a skirt!" Kid shouted.

Spirit looked nervous. "Do you really want to put a boy in a dress?"

Death was now glaring at him. "I will thank you not to apply your gender-limited notions of attire onto my son. Or should I pull out the pictures from last year's holiday party where a certain someone was in a tiny miniskirt?"

Spirit began to study his shoes. "I'll be good."

Kid and Death's argument persisted throughout the party. Everyone else mingled around the room, trying to avoid the discussion-and bring Joe more tissues for his ears.

At age 9, Kid received one gift at the holiday party from his father. Inside were a pair of black slacks.

"Merry Christmas," Death said simply, as he tended to the newest Death Scythe for Western Europe.

That was the most father and son said to each other at that party, as Kid tried to assume a more professional demeanor as he faced numerous questions: when are you getting your own weapon partner, how tall are you now, and how's your dad?

"Father is fine," Kid said, with an even voice. "We're fine."


	23. Death the Kid (Part 3)

**_Liz's last line of dialogue comes from kallexnuh on Tumblr - and some headcanon the two of us figured out about Kid and Patty fashion choices._**

* * *

"You two are looking well!" Lord Death clapped his hands together.

He was standing in the Death Room, under numerous red and green banners that somehow stretched across the infinite space of his blue-sky chamber. The Death Mirror behind him was broadcasting a 24-hour feed of a yule log burning. The snack table was bustling, as Tezca Tlipoca kept pointing behind Dengu Dinga and Alexandre to sneak cookies off their plates when they turned around. Auntie was pouring drinks for Mira Naigus—one of her first times at a social gathering since Sid's death. At least Mira was smiling, a sight very few of her coworkers had seen in some time, including those Death Scythes that were still in Death City, having to clean up the mess the witch Shaula Gorgon had left almost two months ago.

It was another festive Holiday Party, this one held about a week before Christmas Day. It was a bit more professional than previous years. Death the Kid had grown older, now 13, so Lord Death had turned his attention to making the yearly get-together a bit more formal. He put out the fancy snack cakes and cheese, even some champagne, and turned down the music on the CD player.

Too bad Lord Death's politeness was not rubbing off to well. Patty Thompson squinted at him after that remark and replied, brusquely, "What's that supposed to mean, Skullhead?"

Liz Thompson was too busy cowering behind her younger sister. Finally, she stammered, "T-t-t-thank you, Mister Grim Reaper. Sir."

Lord Death chuckled. "Oh, come on, Lizzie! I'm not that grim! I'm simply the happy incarnation of the end of life, an avatar for all the many experiences of the cessation of life, whether by weaponry, vehicles, natural causes, eating too many donuts all at once-"

"Hey! I tried that once! I only got through 26 before Sis stopped me-" Patty started, smiling widely. Then she caught herself. She crossed her arms and frowned. "I mean, that's how we rolled back in the day."

Death the Kid rolled his eyes. "You're almost done with your probation. Can't you stop this facade of thuggishness and try to smile a bit more?"

Liz finally stood up from behind her sister. Still sweating from facing someone as powerful and supernatural as Lord Death, she could manage to avoid the same fears when contending with her annoying potential meister. "You're one to talk. Four days until Christmas, and you've hardly cracked a smile!"

"Yeah!" called someone from behind Kid, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Live it up! Have some eggnog!" He then leaned down and whispered. "Just keep it away from Azusa. You know how she gets—"

"I heard that!"

Spirit frowned and looked back. "You have Telescopic Ears, too?!"

An empty carton of eggnog crashed into his face, spilling a bit of the drink onto his tie.

"Hey! My darling daughter bought this for me—"

Azusa was now in front of Spirit, arms crossed. "And when was the last time she spoke with you?"

Spirit went from frowning to sobbing in less than a second.

"Well, I see the Holiday Party is ruined in only 23 minutes in," Lord Death said. He then reached into his cloak and pulled out something green and wrapped—a wad of bills, as he flipped out 50 Death Notes and handed them to Patty. "Good call!"

Patty was now smiling widely. "Thanks!" with a bubbly voice.

Kid frowned. "You bet with my father on when Azusa would bring up Spirit's infidelity?"

Spirit was now curled in the fetal position at the feet of Liz, who was looking around with confusion on how to deal with this kind of a situation.

"No, that would be stupid," Patty said, some of the edge returning to her voice. "I bet on which one of these Death Scythes or whatever would pick a fight with the other one." She then pointed at Azusa. "And the gun girl is badass!"

Azusa's glasses shone at Patty—causing the teenager to squint again against the light, as well as with some trepidation.

"I am not a 'gun girl.' I am a combination crossbow and firearm, and I am old enough to be considered a woman, young lady."

Patty was now hiding behind Liz, quivering. The older sister frowned as she now had two big babies to deal with. She looked at Azusa. "I'm sorry about my sister's remarks." She then smirked and crossed her arms. "And you're still pretty young for a Death Scythe, so I would take it as a compliment, given how quickly you got your 100 human souls and witch soul."

Azusa's scowl had not changed. "It's 99 human souls."

Liz shrugged. "See? Patty and me are still getting used to how you folks run things at this school." She risked looking at Lord Death, as she tested another comment: "I mean, if we're going to be weapons to your son, it'll take some time for us to get used to everything."

"You do not have much time."

Patty stopped shaking as she heard that low voice. Liz stopped smiling. Both sisters instinctively clutched each other, never hearing that register come out of Lord Death. Kid himself raised an eyebrow.

"Being a weapon to a shinigami is a serious endeavor, and I demand that you to take it seriously," Lord Death said, evenly, his voice booming.

In fact, Death's remark had so much bass it caused the CD player to skip, Azusa's shiny glasses to clear up, Spirit to stop crying, and Tezca to stop hogging all the cookies away from Dengu, both of whom looked up from the snack table at their meister.

Death's voice then returned to its cheerier form. "And I think that's why Kiddo has something for you!"

Kid smiled knowingly. "So, you were merely introducing what I had to give them?"

Lord Death nodded vigorously. Patty and Liz slowly eased out of their hug, although Patty was still looking a little more terrified out of the reaction.

"Um, so, what is this all about?" Liz asked.

Suddenly, Kid had revealed two large flat boxes-where he had hidden them on himself, Liz was not sure she wanted to know. Both boxes were the same height and shape. Of course they were, Liz thought. They even had the same shiny red wrapping paper, the same large blue ribbons (which Patty was poking while giggling), and the same skull mark on them, different only in addressee: "To Liz" and "To Patty."

Liz stared at Kid. "You had someone else write out your name, didn't you?" She tapped on "From Kid."

The young reaper blushed and cleared his throat. "If you want some work accomplished quickly, then you learn to delegate."

"Oh, you should go to a doctor to get that checked out," Patty said, looking up from the ribbon that she had tugged and twisted.

Kid and Liz blinked in confusion.

"Oh, I agree!" Lord Death said. "And maybe you can have the doctor also check out what you told me about your-"

Kid started waving his hands. "Thank you! Thank you very much, Father!" His face had now turned completely red before Liz put a hand on his shoulder, giving a small smile. She knew a thing or two about awkward family reactions, while Lord Death and Patty, all of her edge rubbed off at that moment, were laughing to each other.

Kid smiled and put a hand over Liz's and tapped. "Well, you had best see what Father and I got you!"

"Merry Christmas!" Patty shouted, as she started to rip-no, shred-the wrapping paper. Kid, as expected, felt his heart leap out of his chest at that horrible sight of numerous untidy pieces of paper snowing along the platform. Since LIz was busy unwrapping her gift, Lord Death put his large hands over his son's eyes, reassuring him: "It's okay. It'll be over soon."

Others had gathered behind Kid, as Spirit and Azusa watched with bemusement, while Alexandre and Dengu just smiled-as they each had Tezca's arms held behind the cosplaying Death Scythe's back, clutching harder when the cookie thief attempted to move. Mira and Auntie watched as she saw Liz saw under the paper a white clothes box. She pulled it up to reveal a red sleeveless sweater vest and a tie. Liz held up the tie.

"Um...Isn't this the kind of gift you buy your dad?"

Lord Death nodded. "Yeah, but ties don't really work on me." He gestured up and down. "I can never find one long enough for my height!"

Patty meanwhile held the sweater vest up to her-upside down. "I think mine has a factory defect." Liz reached over and flipped it up. "Oh, that's better!" Patty smiled. "But why do we have the same outfits-"

Both sisters' eyes widened. Then they frowned. "You have to be shitting me," both said.

Lord Death's mask looked panicked. Kid frowned. "Language," the son said.

"You have to be pooping us," both sisters said.

Kid blinked. "Um...better?" he said, or rather asked. He cleared his throat yet again. "If you two are to be my weapons, then you will have to dress in identical attire."

"No," Liz said.

"Which includes all attire."

"If you want us to wear the same underwear, then you're going too far, bub."

At Patty's remark, the crowd behind stopped smiling: this was not going to be the holiday greeting card moment they expected. Alexandre and Dengu were too embarrassed for Kid to bother holding Tezca's arms behind his head-not that it mattered, as seeing Kid turning a Christmas gift into something for himself left him sicked. Auntie and Mira turned back to get some champagne.

But Spirit and Azusa remained, primarily because Kid wasn't done.

"So," Azusa tested, "I guess we shouldn't-"

"No!" Kid said, holding up his hand. "You will! Give them the rest of their gifts!"

" 'The rest'?" Liz asked. Suddenly, Spirit shoved a box into her hands-as he pleaded with her: "Just open it!" he whispered. "It's like a bandage: just rip it off real fast, take all the pain at once rather than let it draw out!"

Azusa was abbreviated as she handed her box Patty: "Sorry. Comes with the job."

Liz and Patty glanced at each other. Then they switched gifts, ripped apart the paper on the other's (again prompting Lord Death to cover his son's eyes, while Spirit covered his ears and Azusa his mouth to give him greater sensory deprivation, and give themselves quiet from his whimpering).

Again the sisters frowned. They held up matching cowboy hats.

"What kind of kink are you into, little man?" Liz asked.

Kid blushed.

Patty added, "Yeah, this is some kind of weird area. They're gonna find us locked in your basement, aren't they?"

Spirit, Azusa, even Lord Death's mask now blushed. They looked down at Kid and slowly stepped back from him, holding up their hands.

"That is not it at all!" Kid managed to choke out, defensively to his father and his associates.

"Oh, I know," Lord Death said, still holding up his hands. "You see, Liz, Patty, Kid is, well, he's always been a cowboy aficionado! Since he was a little boy, he loved westerns!"

Liz's right eye was twitching. "So this is something weird and Freudian?"

Kid raised an eyebrow at her. Liz met his look and frowned. "Don't look at me like that. I read." Kid persisted in staring. She blushed. "Granted, it's on the Internet, but still…"

"At least it fits well," Patty said. She had grabbed her hat from Liz and put it on-and then shoved the other one atop Liz's. "See! We are twins!"

"Well, not in all areas-"

Spirit slapped his hands over Kid's mouth. "Stop."

"Just a messed up fetish, whatever you have in mind," Liz said, pointing at Kid. "So, what, are the pants going to be the same."

His mouth still covered, Kid nodded, his smile apparent even behind Spirit's hand.

"Ugh…" Liz groaned. "Fuck," Patty muttered. "Fine," Liz added. "Just hand us the last gifts to make this nightmare dress-up party end."

A thought then came to Kid. "Um, Father? You were the one to buy their pants, yes? I gave you their dimensions."

Kid heard a low growl. He looked out the corner of his eye to see a furious Liz. Kid grinned sheepishly. "It's not as if you never gave your dimensions to the Mansion's staff for your previous wardrobe order, yes?"

Even though Kid spoke the truth, Liz's growl only louden. Even Azusa was backing up a bit.

"Yes, Kid, I got the pair of pants!"

"Good!" Kid said, happy for any other discussion. Then his smile faded. " 'The pair'?" Kid faced his father. Despite Death's mask obscuring his face, Kid could tell he was grinning. Kid's frown grew. "You wouldn't."

Lord Death put a finger up to Kid's nose and poked gently. "Merry Christmas, shorts-boy."

"Um, I'm confused!" Patty said, raising a hand. "Could I get an explanation pronto?"

"Of course, Miss Thompson!" Lord Death said, as he reached one hand into his other sleeve and pulled out two boxes, one noticeably shorter than the other, that one handed to Patty.

Kid felt his stomach turning. He really should have seen this coming. It must have been all the unwrapping that distracted him.

"Well?" Lord Death said. "Open them up!"

Patty and Liz looked at each other. Liz shook her longer, thinner box, while Patty put an ear to hers. "I don't hear any ticking…" she said.

Liz unwrapped quickly and pulled from the box a pair of pants. "Well, at least they're slimming," she said. "How did you make out, Patty?"

Liz then grimaced as she saw what Patty got: a pair of shorts, baggy at the sides. Patty was rotating them around, flipping them back and forth, looking critical and rather unimpressed with this present.

"Puffy shorts?" Liz asked. She stuck out a tongue and said, "Blech!"

Kid also looked like he was going to vomit. "Father! Why would you drag some childish joke into my ideal for having practically symmetrical partners!"

Lord Death chuckled devilishly. "Displeased? Disappointed?"

"Yes!" Kid shouted. "And yes!"

Spirit looked nervously behind him at the party attendees, gesturing that everything was fine, continue snacking, please untie Tezca's arms already.

"Good."

Kid stopped glaring and looked confused at his father's remark.

"Tell me, Kid: is anything truly and absolutely symmetrical in this world? I mean, when you get down to the nitty-gritty of it?"

Kid frowned, flipping his hand at the wrist dismissively. "Yes, yes, the human body has the heart on the left, even twins lack identical fingerprints, even the Academy is bound to have imperfections, blah blah blah. I have heard these lessons repeatedly."

"And the benefit of those lessons," Death said, as he pat a hand atop Kid's head, rotating it back, "is that diversity of appearances lends to surprises."

And Kid faced a surprise: Patty was hopping up and down, giggling.

"So cute!" Patty shouted. "Look at these, Sis! Puffy shorts! Puffy shorts!"

"Yeah, I see, Liz said, struggling not to laugh along with her sister, but also too pleased to see her actually enjoying something, even as something as ugly as those shorts.

"B-B-B-But Father! Puffy shorts will compromise the symmetrical appearance I am shooting for!"

"Puffy shorts, Kiddo!" Patty interrupted, shoving the puffy shorts into his face. "Can't argue with puffy shorts! They are big and bulbous and bilious and a whole lot of B-words."

"I can think of one or two B words," Kid muttered from inside the shorts.

Then Kid felt a slap to the back of his head. "Ow!" He pulled back from inside the shorts and stared at Liz, who was now behind him, her face furious. "I didn't actually say them!"

"You were thinking them!" Liz said, holding a fist up and ready to strike the front of his head to even him out.

Kid recoiled from his weapon and looked to his father. He glowered. "Can't you let me how one Christmas without another pair of shorts?!"

Patty stopped laughing. Liz stopped glowering. The party's noise continue milling about, yet to Kid, he still felt like everything had grown still and quiet as his father laid a hand over his shoulder.

"So, Kid," Death began, "should I take these puffy shorts away from Patty?"

Tears then started to stream down Death's face.

Kid frowned. "Stop."

"And would you dare b-b-break the heart," Death said, affecting a stammer, as he turned Kid around, "of this little one?"

Kid was then face to face with Patty, her eyes red, tears falling, her lip quivering-and snot coming down her nose.

"You two are evil," Kid said, deadpan, seeing through Patty and Death's performances.

"Please, Kiddo?" Patty asked, really selling the pathetic performance. "Just one pair of puffy shorts?" She shook them back and forth. "It lets me keep my individuality that you are trying to take away from Big Sis and me by dressing us up in your kinky cowgirl outfits."

Liz slapped a hand over her face. "Kill me now," she muttered.

Kid pouted. "I'm never going to hear the end of this from you or Father if I do not acquiesce?"

Patty then smiled, the tears, red eyes, and snot disappearing all at once. "I don't know what 'achy S's' are, but yeah, I'll keep whining at you until you do what I want!"

"Me, too!" Lord Death said, playfully pinching at Kid's shoulders.

Kid groaned. "These are the stupidest Christmas gifts I have ever seen."

"So this is how I die," Liz complained, watching Patty bouncing up and down. "With thunderous stupidity."

"And puffy shorts!" Patty exclaimed.

Kid faced his father. "Why do you do this to me?"

"As I said," Death said, his voice still high-pitched but even, "people are individuals, with their own desires and interests."

Kid's father pointed at Patty, who was now chasing after Liz, waving the puffy shorts at her. Kid studied the two. That was the first time all week he saw Patty giggling. And Liz, as annoyed as she looked, was spending less time trying to escape her sister than holding something back. And Kid saw it: he saw her lips struggling to stay turned down, as her greatest fight was not against her sister's chase, but against smiling in spite of herself.

"And sometimes that desire can be for something as simple as a girl who wants shorts, or a son who wants pants."

Despite the small smile on his face, Kid let out a groan. "Is there going to be a point when you stop teaching me new things?"

"Not any time soon," Death said, draping an arm under Kid's armpits and tugging him upward where his other hand began to rub through his son's hair.

"Father!" Kid shouted, desperately trying to get loose. "Not the hair!"

The party returned to its previous state of excitement-which, for a party featuring numerous people who could turn into deadly weapons or one young woman rubbing puffy shorts into her sister's annoyed face, was actually much more subdued than would probably be expected.


	24. Tsubaki Nakatsukasa (Part 5)

"Here you go, Santa!"

Black Star slammed the mug of milk-a mug shaped like a reindeer's head-down on the table. Santa, since untied by Black Star and Angela, was sitting on his knees at the low table. He was flanked on either side by Black Star and Angela.

Tsubaki was seated across from the man purported to be Santa Claus. She saw the man staring, fearful, at the mug of milk.

"Black Star," Santa began, hesitantly, "you're sure this milk isn't drugged as well, is it?"

Black Star studied the milk. "No, I'm pretty sure it isn't: I did pour directly from the carton." He pushed the mug towards Angela. "But maybe we need a taste-tester!"

Angela squirmed and pushed the mug back. "I'm not drinking that!"

"Come on, squirt!" Black Star responded. "If it's laced with my painkillers, I can't test it-I'm immune!" He pushed the mug back.

"How do I know you didn't put your painkillers into it as punishment for me putting the painkillers in before?!" She shoved it back, and with that thrust spilled a bit onto the table.

Angela and Black Star were interrupted by a groan. "I'll taste it," Tsubaki finally said, seizing the mug and sipping it. She then smacked her mouth a bit. "I don't taste anything weird." She set the mug down and pushed it towards the man across from her. "And if it does have painkillers, maybe it would get rid of the migraine I feel coming."

Tsubaki tugged on her kimono and frowned. "How do you know this person, Black Star?"

Black Star looked confused. "I told you before! I helped Santa once!"

"I thought that was a joke." Yep, definitely a migraine coming.

"How do you think we got that sweet mini-Christmas tree with the lights on it?"

"I thought you were being cute."

Black Star frowned. "I don't do cute." He then flexed his bicep. "I do badass!"

"Not very well," Angela responded. That remark earned her a flick to the forehead from Black Star. "Ow!"

As Black Star cackled, his attack earned him getting tackled, as Angela leapt over the short table and pinned him down, proceeding to punch into his chest. "Stupid spiky-hair moron!" she cried as she kept smacking him.

While Black Star play-fought with Angela, Tsubaki looked across the table at their guest. "I am sorry for the behavior of my meister and our child," she began. "But I am really finding it hard to believe that a fictional character actually exists."

"Oh ho ho, no worries," Santa replied, sipping on the milk. "I'm used to that sort of thing, Tsubaki."

She narrowed her eyes. "And I find it really creepy that you are on a first-name basis with all of us, when none of us have ever met you."

"Hey!" Black Star shouted, thrusting his hand upward with his index finger extended. He continued to speak as Angela was slamming her fists down onto his chest, neck, even mouth. "First off, Santa knows everyone by name! Second, I just told you I met him! Third, don't worry about this, Santa-Tsubaki's just a skeptic. She still doesn't think time travel is possible!"

"Oh?" Santa said, looking at her. He chuckled. "Yet you believe in humans being able to transform into weapons? Or witches?"

"Hey!" Angela shouted at the large elf. "I'm real! I'm right here!"

"Exactly," Tsubaki added. "I don't believe in things I see with my own eyes: that is evidence-based. But you're asking me to believe in something that I have never encountered before. That is harder."

Santa nodded, silent but smiling, as he took another sip. He was letting Tsubaki make his point for him.

"I mean, it's not to say that I don't believe in things," Tsubaki continued. "I know that beliefs are something you hold when all evidence it against you. If I didn't have beliefs, I wouldn't be able to have hope about getting through difficult situations, whether that would be opponents we've faced-"

She stopped for a moment, looking at Black Star. He looked back, his eyes softening.

Tsubaki inhaled. "Sometimes, you believe because you can't imagine an alternative."

A sad smile formed on Black Star's face-which was then removed as he grimaced and let out a high-pitched squeal. "Angela!" he squeaked. "Not below the belt!"

"Stupid jerk!" the witch continued, ready to bring her fist down against his testicles again.

"No," Tsubaki said, walking over and picking up Angela. "Come here, Angie."

The witch fussed as Tsubaki lowered her and let her sit on her lap. Tsubaki looked back to Santa. "Just because I can believe certain ideals, and just because I can look at weapons and witches, is not enough to then say, 'Oh, I guess Santa Claus is real.'"

"Yeah!" Angela interrupted, pointing at Santa. "If you're real, how come you never brought presents to witches? Is it 'cause we're naughty?!"

"Oh ho ho, no," Santa said, waving a hand dismissively. "There are many fine, upstanding witches." He then frowned. "Except that Kim Diehl. She's getting a big stocking full of coal tomorrow."

"Ha!" Black Star squeaked, before he let out a groan and cupped his groin again.

"Then why weren't you ever there to give us gifts?!" Angela shouted.

"If meisters cannot find the Witches' Realm, what luck am I going to have?" Santa said with a smile. "Even my skills at looking for souls are limited."

Tsubaki blinked. "You're a meister?"

"More or less," Santa said, taking another sip with a satisfied sigh. "Hmm...This is really good milk. But yes, I have wielded a weapon from time to time. Had to use some of them to make my trips faster!" His mouth then tensed as his eyes looked away. "Some really annoying weapons, too, if I wanted to get all the work done in one night." He shuddered. "Oh, the things I do to spread joy, presents, and cheaply manufactured toys to all the good children."

"But I've lived here for two years now!" Angela countered. "And you never brought gifts either time!"

"Hey!" Black Star sat up, his voice cracking as it returned to its slightly lower register. "What about that dollhouse Santa got you last year?!"

"That was you!" Angela shouted.

Santa nodded. "Oh, yes, it was Black Star."

Black Star began to sweat. "S-Stop lying, Santa!" He then muttered, "Dude, help me out here-you're making me look bad!"

"You signed Santa's name with a star!" Angela yelled.

Black Star's eyes widened. "Huh. Man, I got a bad habit of doing that, don't I?" He then broke out laughing. "So much for that, huh?"

Angela turned back to Santa. "So why no presents?!"

"Well, because you were naughty!"

"I was not!" Angela said.

"You just clubbed poor Black Star here in his holly berries!"

"Yeah!" Black Star shouted at the child. "You got to be on the nice list, like me!"

"No, you're still on the naughty list, Black Star."

"Santa?!" Black Star looked like he was about to cry. "Why?!"

Santa was now staring hard at the ninja. "You're still working off time for all those pranks you pulled on your friends over the last five years. And that time you duct taped Angela to the wall."

"What?" Tsubaki asked, now also staring hard at the ninja.

Black Star squirmed. "Hey, I needed some peace and quiet." He pointed at Angela with a smile. "She enjoyed it, right?"

"Hell no," Angela responded. "I still haven't gotten back all feeling in my toes!"

Tsubaki glared at Black Star, who began to slouch in shame. She turned back to Santa. "So, I take it I was naughty?" She then blushed a bit. "I mean, in the 'naughty or nice' way. Not...I mean, just not."

Santa nodded knowingly. "Oh, no, you would definitely be on the nice list, if I had to put you onto a list."

Tsubaki leaned forward a bit, still holding Angela in her lap, as the witch looked confused. "So why not put someone like me on a list?"

"Because you don't believe."

Tsubaki groaned. "This again? Sorry, but it is hard to still believe in something when all reality up to that point shows you it just is not possible."

"Not impossible," Santa corrected, setting down his empty milk mug. He then gestured to Black Star, who, recognizing the request, took the mug and returned to the fridge to pour another glass. "Just improbable."

"You're splitting hairs," Tsubaki said, rubbing Angela's back as the witch grew a bit bored with the discussion. "Why is it that you have to believe in something for you, if you are really Santa, to come to give gifts?"

"You outgrew me, Tsubaki."

Tsubaki frowned.

"Oh, it's not a bad thing!" Santa held up his hands. "Not at all! It's a compliment! It shows that you have matured."

Angela interrupted. "Oh, so I haven't? What, kids need Santa because they aren't mature?"

Santa shook his head. "You misunderstand. I'm here as just one detail in the lives of many people. Everyone needs something they believe in. They don't really believe in me, the idea of Santa. They believe in joy, charity, kindness. I'm all of that incarnate!"

"Like a Kishin of Love!" Black Star shouted, popping his head out of the fridge.

Santa frowned. "Please, none of that. I still get letters from children asking about that 'Madness of Boobs' nonsense, let's not start rumors that I'm a Kishin."

Black Star set down the mug of milk. "You're kinda like a Kishin! You infect people with kindness!"

"Stop," Santa ordered. "You're distracting from the point I was making."

"Sorry, sir," Black Star said, sitting back on the floor at the short table.

Santa sighed, turning back to Tsubaki. "Not all children learn about charity and kindness from some made-up story about a man who comes down the chimney to deliver gifts. Many children learn it from parents." He gestured to Tsubaki and Angela. "Some children have excellent parents who teach them those values, and they don't need tall tales about me to make that point clear."

Angela pouted. "I still don't get presents, though. That's a rip-off."

Tsubaki smiled a bit at her child. She hugged her a bit closer. Then she looked at Santa. "What about someone like me? I remember believing in you, and yet your Christmas gifts disappeared. I figured it was my parents who left the gifts under your name."

Santa chuckled. "I have my ways of persuading parents to get what children ask of me, or to let parents think it was really them who provided those gifts. Little white lies never hurt anyone."

Tsubaki stopped smiling. She looked down at the table. "Some of us stop believing, though." She thought about when she had stopped herself.

Santa set down his mug. "Black Star? I think it's time you put Angela to bed."

"Aw," Angela whined.

"Yeah, Santa!" Black Star said. Then he repeated Angela. " 'Aw!' You were just getting to the good stuff.'

Santa, with a smile, patted Black Star on the shoulder. "You have caused me one heck of a delay to get these gifts delivered. So if you and your witch don't want to be on the naughty list for eternity, I suggest you march your hinder into that bedroom, put your child to sleep, and get yourself to sleep too, or I'll fill this apartment with so much coal the EPA will declare it a hazard site."

Black Star squirmed. "O-Okay." He stood up, walked to Tsubaki, took Angela out of her arms, and held her-parallel to the floor. "Merry Christmas, Santa!" Black Star said with a wave, as he carried Angela to her room.

"But I didn't get to tell him what I wanted for Christmas!" Angela shouted, as she was shoved into the bedroom, as Black Star followed to put her to sleep.

Tsubaki stared after her meister and child with confusion. She then looked back to Santa. "Okay," she began. "What did you want to say to me, then?"

Then something slid along the table and stopped in front of her. It was an envelop-and its faded red color and childish handwriting sent a chill down Tsubaki's back.

" 'Dear Santa.'"

Tsubaki looked up at the man across from her. He was looking down as well, a tinge of sadness in his eyes. He had no paper in his hand. What he said, he said from memory:

" 'There is only one thing I want for this Christmas.'"

Tsubaki shook her head. "Please. No."

" 'Masamune still hasn't come back. I know this is asking a lot, but can you bring him home by Christmas?'"

Tsubaki felt her eyes stinging.

" 'Father keeps crying. Mother has searched everywhere. Please, Santa. I do not want anything else but to have my brother home.'"

Tsubaki balled her hands into fists. She looked down at the envelop-now opened, the handwritten letter spread out in front of her, signed at the bottom, "Love, Tsubaki."

"I stop coming to children who do not need me," Santa said. "I stop because there comes a point where that child knows what they want, and has no need to believe in me."

The handwriting on the signature ran down a little as a drop of water hit it.

"That's because," Santa concluded, "those children only need to believe in themselves to accomplish what they want."

Tsubaki covered her face. She felt something strike at her very soul, as if she had been stabbed in the chest. She lowered her shoulders and continued to sob.

"I'm sorry," Santa said. "I'm so sorry."


	25. Death Scythes

" 'From the bottom of my heeeeeeeeeart!'"

Spirit Albarn then whipped the mic cord. "Thank you!"

Snow was falling throughout the Death Room, an interesting tactic Lord Death had taken to make the room a little more wintery. Christmas lights lined the guillotines leading from the Death Weapon Meister Academy into the room, except the last, which had mistletoe hanging from it. Tables were laid out with numerous hotplates, various drinks, and a copious amount of desserts: cheesecakes, gingerbread demon cookies, skull-shaped cupcakes, blood red candy canes.

But no one was partaking of any treats, or looking at the decorations. Seated at couches or armchairs brought into the Death Room, or standing around the snack tables, Death Scythes and their weapons, along with shinigami and their weapons, stared silent in surprise at having heard surprisingly well-done singing by Spirit Albarn. Soul Evans, seated on the couch placed in the room, was dumbfounded. The silence was broken when, standing behind Soul, Patty Thompson, dressed in a sleeveless top with a reindeer antler headband, began clapping wildly. "Woot! Bravo! Awesome!"

Spirit blushed as he replaced the microphone. He then adjusted his light-up tie-with Christmas lights along it-as he spoke: "Who's next up for karaoke?"

"Let's give it a break, Spirit," Lord Death interrupted, as he slid to the microphone. He had on a Santa cap over his cloak's top. "Kind of hard to top you on that one."

"True 'nuff," Spirit said, as he sauntered over to the snack table for some apple cider.

"Okay, everyone!" Death said into the microphone. "Mingle a bit more before our next act!" He then set the needle back onto the record behind him and swayed a bit to the music, before following Spirit to the snacks.

Soul just felt confused. It was rare, after enough Kishin battles, to have a break for something as relaxing, and, honestly and without any snark, entertaining as a get-together with classmates. He admitted that he felt a little easier since Maka punched out the Kishin and he made peace with that freakish demon inside of him. But this? This just seemed too calm.

Soul looked to the two people seated next to him-Liz Thompson and Marie Mjolnir-for confirmation. "Is this what usually happens here?"

Marie, wearing a blue sweater with a dreidel on it, smiled. "More or less. The Death Scythe Holiday Party tends to let everyone relax a bit."

"Yep!" Patty shouted, wrapping her arms around Liz for a behind-the-back hug. "Food, drink, and gossip!" She then whispered, loud enough for Soul to hear, "Like that ugly sweater Soul has on."

Soul frowned. He tugged on the green sweater, featuring a red pattern of Santa silhouettes dancing with each other. "Maka picked this out."

Liz, eschewing any holiday attire except to wear a red blouse, kept her eyes on Soul while whispering, loudly, to Patty: "He does that so not to hurt her feelings."

Soul was now clenching his teeth. "Stop that."

Standing next to Patty, Death the Kid sighed. "My apologies for my partners, Death Scythe."

Soul frowned, as he picked up another cookie from his plate. "Enough with that, Kid." His sharp teeth bit off the head of the gingerbread demon. "I'm still the same old Soul, witch's soul or not," he said with his mouth full. He chewed and swallowed. "I just didn't think becoming Death Scythe meant getting some ticket to a private holiday party."

"For you and your meister," Soul said. "Where is she? Weapons' practice?"

Soul shook his head. "Same place she is every December 24: late, trying to get last-minute gifts." He smirked. "Perfectionist."

Kid smiled. "I cannot criticize her for that. It's one reason I had to turn over gift-wrapping responsibilities to professionals, if I ever wanted to have everything ready in time."

Kid then looked to Marie, especially her sweater. "I see you were not lying about having Shelley learn about Hannukah."

Marie perked up with a large smile. "It's fascinating! I feel like I'm learning so much!"

A grunt emerged from the armchair next to her, which was also brought in for the holiday party. Stein, still in his lab coat from class, was slouched in his seat. "I feel like I'm being condescended," he intoned, rubbing his fingers along the rubber band on his left wrist.

Marie frowned. "But don't you want our child to learn about her heritage?"

"I'm agnostic." He thumbed at Death, who was approaching the punch bowl to slake his thirst. "Barring the ones I can see, granted."

Marie sat up a bit. "Well, I think it is important that a child learn her heritage." She turned to Kid. "So I'm also teaching her about some pagan traditions, some Christian traditions-a little bit of what my family has had with time."

Kid smiled and shrugged. "Any knowledge has to be helpful." He looked to Stein. "I'm sure Shelley will appreciate it."

Stein crossed his arms. "Sorry. The holiday season just tends to make me grumpy."

"Hey, turn that frown upside."

Stein did a double-take, as Patty had emerged beside his seat.

"Snickerdoodles!" she offered a plate. "Eat them and enjoy the Christmas season!"

An empty Solo cup then smacked into the back of Patty's head.

"Hey!" she shouted, looking at the culprits. "I don't tell you how to have your made-up bullshit holiday! Don't tell me how to celebrate my made-up bullshit holiday!"

"Put the Death back in Deathmas!" Justin Law started, waving his fist while holding up his miniature plastic Christmas tree-rather, Deathmas tree, decorated in black tinsel, purple lights, and a skull topper.

"Yeah!" Tezca Tlipoca added, shoveling another slice of pizza in his mouth. "Free pizza! Free Deathmas!"

Liz grimaced. She looked up at Kid. "You encourage this, you know that, right? Why is that freak from Central America even back here?! He couldn't be bother to show up earlier, now he's just grabbing cookies to run off again?"

"Easy, girl," Patty said, holding up a hand. "Maybe you need some egg n-"

Kid interrupted. "I told them to stop! What else am I supposed to do?!"

Patty frowned. She then looked behind and noticed something odd on the snack table. "Where is the egg nog, anyway?"

Liz was still arguing with Kid. "I don't know. Justin and that furry guy keep up with this 'tis the season' nonsense. And I really don't think it's shinigami that make Christmas. That's not the first syllable in the name."

Kid rolled his eyes and smirked. "I suppose I could introduce them to the man who put his name in that season."

Soul, Marie, Stein, and Patty looked askance at Kid.

Kid shrugged. "What? How else could someone survive three days and re-emerge if not for some help from Death himself?"

Stein blinked. "Even I find that sacrilegious."

"Yeah," Liz added. "I haven't been to mass in years. Now I want to go."

"Ditto," Soul said, raising a hand.

Kid sighed. "No one takes a joke anymore."

But then Kid was interrupted as he felt himself ripped up from behind the couch and hanged by his armpits in the air by Justin.

"The only holy infant we need is right here!" Justin cried.

"Put me down, you lunatic!" Kid screamed, kicking his feet in the air.

"A miracle he is!" Tezca said, getting down on one knee. "He is the Simba we hold up over the Pridelands!"

"Mulan was better!" someone shouted.

"Don't encourage them, Patty," Liz warned.

Soul just buried his face in his hands. "These people are crazy."

Marie groaned. "At least the benefit of having a babysitter this evening is being able to drink again." She held up her cup. "Soul? Can you refill my eggnog?"

Soul then slapped his forehead. "Oh, I forgot-we ran out. I told Azusa to go get it."

The record skipped. Silence hung. Lord Death looked at his peers, all of them but Justin and Soul with aghast faces. Spirit dropped his red Solo cup, prompting Soul to look around, confused, and merely groan, "Uh…" Even Tezca's mask looked shocked.

The only other sound were the soft beats coming through Justin's earphones. The Death Scythe, still holding Kid in the air, looked at everyone, confused. Kid was motionless in his hands. "Why is everything frozen?" Justin shouted over his earphone. "What happened to make everyone-?"

Then Justin's eyes widened and he screamed at Lord Death, "You sent Azusa to get the eggnog, didn't you?!"

"It was Soul!" everyone shouted, pointing at the newest Death Scythe.

"Wh-What?" Soul asked, starting to smile nervously. "What's the problem with that?"

"Oh, holy night!"

Soul covered his hands over his ears. "What was that? It sounded like a wolf got its tail caught in a trap!"

Liz pointed to the hallway. "You aren't too far off!"

Entering the room, wearing a sequin cat sweater, was Azusa Yumi, clutching a carton-an open carton-of egg nog. She then swung the carton around, spilling a large amount along the floor, as she sang into an imaginary microphone.

"The pipes, the pipes, are caaaaaaaaaal-ling!"

Soul blinked as he watched Azusa saunter into the room, trip a bit coming up the stairs to the pedestal, and winking at Lord Death as she slurred her words. "Hey, boss! How's-How is-How're those s-sleigh bells jinglin' for ya?!"

Soul frowned. "Holy crap. She couldn't even get the lyrics right to 'Holy Night.'"

Soul was then off of the couch and hanging over the floor, as Spirit had him by the collar. "Who told you to tell her to get egg nog?! We don't want a repeat of last year!"

Soul growled as he formed a blade along his arm. "Best let go, Spirit, if you want to keep that hand for the New Year!"

Marie was now standing. "Spirit!"

The redheaded scythe clenched his teeth and lowered Soul to the floor. "I'll go tend to the caroler," he said, marching towards Azusa.

"Phew," Soul sighed. "Thanks, Marie-"

*CRASH*

Soul was now on the floor, a mallet-sized dent in his head. "Ow," he groaned, as Marie, her arm transformed, started stamping his butt with each syllable:

"What! Were! You! Thinking?!"

"Nothing!" Soul shouted. "And jeez, great work making me miss books to the head, Marie!"

Stein allowed himself a small smile. "Now this party is getting entertaining." He looked behind him. "Hey, Azusa! Sing the Rudolph song!"

"Good one!" Azusa said, swinging the carton again and began to sing, off-key. "Rudy the Flying Reindeer! Used to laugh and call them names! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Liz put her head in her hands. "We're laughing at public intoxication. This is bad."

Patty shook her head, as she hid behind the couch. "I'm not laughing. This is just sad."

"How was I supposed to know?!" Soul said, desperately, as everyone avoided eye contact with him. "How much did she even drink?!"

Soul then felt fingers tug at his shirt again, as Patty was in front of him, shaking him violently. "Just a sip messes her up!" Patty shouted. "It's inhuman!"

"One sip does that to her?!" Soul shouted-or, rather, tried to, through each shake by Patty, before she wrapped her arms around him and shook fearfully at the drunken Death Scythe Azusa.

"How much alcohol is even in eggnog?!" Soul added.

"It's actually not the alcohol content that makes Azusa act like this," Marie lectured, her arms still crossed as she looked coldly at Soul. "You see, some Death Scythes react poorly to certain chemicals, or rather, their witches' souls do. For Azusa, her witch's soul responds badly to the nutmeg in the eggnog."

"Oooooh," Liz interrupted. "Yeah, nutmeg is a hell of a drug." She then laughed. "Actually, back in the day, we used to buy some, sniff it, and-"

Now everyone was looking coldly at Liz.

Liz felt a hand grab onto her head and pin it to look at Patty, who was back behind the couch and started shaking her head vigorously back and forth. Liz looked out of the corner of her eye at the offended partygoers and laughed nervously. "Not really party-conversation material, huh?"

Then a piercing sound echoed through the chamber, as everyone covered their ears, even Justin, against the reverb of the karaoke machine. Azusa was at the microphone.

"Okay, everyone just shut up!" Azusa lectured. "I'm gonna do my holiday tradition, or airing my grievances!"

Tezca tsked. "What kind of made-up holiday is that?"

"Quiet, you!" Kid said, pointing his finger at Tezca. "And put me down already, Justin!"

Justin grimaced. "Sorry, sir, can't read your lips at this time! Looking at the trainwreck at the karaoke stand."

"Justin!" Kid repeated.

"Shhhh!" Azusa said into the microphone, pointing at Justin. "I'm just happy, first off, that of all the good things to happen this year, we finally replaced that loser Death Scythe with a new one! That guy, Justin over there! Yeah, you! You big, dummy loser-head!"

Justin frowned. Soul couldn't help laughing.

"But the replacement Death Scythe is just as big a nerd as him!" Soul and Justin frowned at that remark, while Azusa cackled-and Tezca joined in.

"But they still aren't as bad as the furry over there!"

"Furry!" Tezca said with a boisterous laugh. "Wh-Who is she talking about?" Then he realized to whom she was referring-and he froze. "Wait, what?"

"His head-like, when was the last time, he, you know, had that thing on his head washed? Answer: never!" Azusa shook with laughter, almost falling forward until Spirit, who had followed her to the karaoke mic, caught her. "Hey, hands off!" Azusa shoved Spirit back. "Y-You don't get to, do, like, those things!" Azusa then pointed two fingers at her eyes then at Spirit's. "I got Thousand-Mile Eyes, creep! Watch it!"

Azusa then faced the audience again and pointed at Stein and Marie. "And you two! You don't hang any more! The only time I get to go to your house-and, by the way, your interior design is immaculate now, you know, since you stopped the whole 'death house from _Saw_ ' look and went with something, you know, homey. Like, homey in a good way, not, like, what Spirit looks like when he's shit-faced."

"I'm right here!" Spirit shouted.

"Watching!" Azusa cried, pointing her fingers at her eyes again as she turned to face Spirit. She then turned back to point an accusatory finger at Marie. "But we only hang now when you need an excuse to get a babysitter for your baby! What, can't Crona do it?!"

"Marie?" Soul asked, frowning. "Can you knock me out again?"

"Only after I do it to myself," Marie said, aiming the hammer to her head.

"No," Stein said, clutching her wrist.

"Come on, Azusa," Spirit said, taking her shoulders. "You just need to work out whatever is in your system."

"Spirit?" Azusa said, dazed. "You mean, just let out whatever I feel?"

Spirit nervously smiled. "Um, yeah, sure?"

Azusa smiled, happily. "That's good to know. I'll just let it out."

Spirit shut his eyes. "Good. Just keep it brief and-"

Spirit then felt something wet collide with his chest.

"Ah, not again!" Spirit heard Lord Death cry. "Kid! Get the sawdust! The stuff the janitor uses!"

Soul had his head in his hands. "This is the second-worst holiday party I have ever been to."

Liz patted him on the back. "Welcome to the world of being a Death Scythe, Soul. It's hell here."

Patty was leaning down next to Soul, to avoid staring at the nutmeg-colored vomit all over the horrified Spirit. "Say, if Zu-zu over there is allergic to nutmeg, what do you think your witch's soul is allergic to?" She then smiled. "Maybe apples?"

Soul looked up. "Why apples?"

Patty shrugged. "Seems appropriate." She then held up a Solo cup. "Apple cider?"

"My clothes are ruined!" Spirit cried.

"I feel awful," Azusa said, her head resting against the one non-vomit covered part of Spirit's shoulder.

Soul stared forward. "No, I think I'll abstain this time."

"More for me then!" Patty proceeded to chug. "Um...cidery!"


	26. Tsubaki Nakatsukasa (Finale)

Tsubaki tossed under her sheets. She closed her eyes harder while letting out small groans. But as she squirmed, she felt her arm smack into something-then heard a loud snort. Her eyes broke open. She saw her bedroom ceiling. She was lying on her back.

She let out a sound as she tried to remember: hadn't she just been in the living room? As she blinked, she felt her eyes stinging. That was the confirmation: she had indeed been crying, she had indeed run into, of all people, the real Santa Claus.

And now, with his hand swung over her shoulder, Black Star was drooling onto her shoulder. So that's who she had smacked into, her hand having punched into his chest, producing that horrible snoring sound as she likely and inadvertently dislodged something out of his nasal passages.

Tsubaki let out a curt laugh. "You feel so clammy," she whispered, letting his hand stay near her neck. "And I need a rag for you." She moved her hand to her face, feeling the crust along her eyes. "And evidently tissues, too."

As she rested there, she saw a bit of the Sun's light slowly entering their bedroom. Her smile remained as she remembered not just last night, but of something else: she remembered her last Christmas with Masamune. She focused on just that memory-the two of them opening their presents, their father hugging them as they sang some of his favorite carols, and their mother joining them to watch Rudolph, on the VHS she and her brother had worn out from so many repeated viewings. Their father had said he would make a copy of the tape so that they could preserve it. After her brother left, however, that, along with so many other promises, went away, too. Still, Tsubaki kept that smile as long as she could. She rubbed her hand along her eyes, trying not to move too much or wake up her meister. After all, that wasn't her task.

Then she heard a crash against the sliding door to their bedroom. "Ow!"

No, that was definitely not her task.

"Tsubaki!" Angela called from outside. She still struggled with folding doors, until she finally pulled it loose, risking to rip the door itself. She dashed into the room and leapt atop Black Star's chest. Angela then shoved her fingers at Black Star's eyelids and tugged hard. "Spikey! Santa! Last night! Wake up!"

Black Star did wake up-and put his fingers around Angela's neck. Tsubaki did not intervene: this morning wake-up call was so routine that he knew how much pressure he could put on her neck. "Do I go into your bedroom and wake you up like this?" he growled.

Angela may not be at risk of dying. That didn't mean she could necessarily breathe easily with a hand around her throat. "T-Tsubaki?" she choked out. "He's killing me!"

Tsubaki put her hand over Black Star's, as she tugged-painfully-along his digits to loosen them.

"Y'Ouch!" Black Star groaned as he finally let go. "That hurt!"

"Not as much as this!" Angela shouted, lifting a fist over his lap again.

Black Star lifted his head and grimaced-until Tsubaki's other hand seized Angela's wrist at the last minute. He laid his head back down onto the pillow. "You saved my jingle bells on that one, Tsubaki." He smiled. "Thank Santa for that."

Tsubaki slapped lightly along his face. "Get up," she ordered, as she picked up Angela under her arms. "Same for you, Angie. We have breakfast, then gifts to unwrap, and dinner at Kid's."

"But that's just it!" Angela shouted. "The gifts!"

Tsubaki stared. "What about them?"

"You need to see what happened to them!" Angela shouted, kicking her legs until Tsubaki set her down. The witch dashed out the door and to the living room. "Hurry up!" she shouted.

Black Star smiled. "He works in mysterious ways."

Tsubaki frowned as she tugged her kimono closer over herself. "Not in the best ways, though."

Black Star stopped smiling. "That bad? You got on his naughty list?"

"Worse," she said, her back now turned to her as she stood up and exited the room.

Black Star groaned. "Man, I hate having to grow up." He shoved his hands into his pajama pants' pockets, lifted his legs to the ceiling, then thrust them down, using the momentum to send himself standing upright in one motion. He hunched over and marched out of the bedroom and into the living room. He passed the table, barely looking at the empty reindeer mug and plate that had only the crumbs of previously consumed cookies.

What caught his attention, however, was the trail of black dust from one of the windows, down the wall, and across the floor.

"Didn't I clean last night when putting up the last decorations?" he asked.

Then he felt something hard hit his head. "What the hell?!" he shouted at the thrower, Angela. And then he saw it: she was standing where their stockings were hung, and in the longest one-his own-was black stuff. The same black stuff that Angela just picked out of her own stocking and threw at his head.

"Coal?!" Angela shouted. "What a ripoff!"

Black Star grimaced. "Man, I'm going to be on the naughty list for the rest of my life!"

Tsubaki allowed herself a small smile. "A long life, then," she said, patting his shoulder. She let her fingers linger there as she walked forward and reached her stocking. "I can't help but feel left out, though." Her stocking was the same clean color as before, and certainly not as full. "Amazing how well my stitching could still hold such heavy coal, though."

With one hand, she pulled open the opening to her stocking and shoved her other hand down into it. When she felt her gift-just one, a round one-she pulled it out.

And her mouth hung open.

Black Star looked around her. And that loudmouth just stared, silent. His eyes grew soft.

Angela frowned. "Man, you got a bigger rip-off than us!" She pointed at the gift. "A ball?! That's it?! Santa is nothing more than a huge jerk! This entire holiday is one big load of-"

Angela stopped ranting when she heard Tsubaki's sniff. And when she saw the tear fall down her face. And saw her clutch the ball to her chest. Angela looked to Black Star and shrugged, her face red with embarrassment and confusion. Black Star shook his head and crossed his arms, keeping his distance to let his weapon lead on this one.

Tsubaki inhaled and took the ball in one hand. She bounced it against the floor-and it came back to her hand. "Good bounce," she said. She tossed it down again. "As always."

Angela stared at the ball's fall and rise. "Y-Yeah," she whispered. "Um...Is that something you wanted? For Christmas, I mean?"

Her eye still on the ball, Tsubaki let out a small laugh. "I guess I did. I just didn't know it." On the last throw, she held the ball and knelt down to be at eye-level with her child. "You know how I used to play with this kind of ball"-she held it up to Angela-"when I was a kid?"

Angela shook her head.

Tsubaki smirked. "Not indoors." She stood up again and tossed it at Angela-hard, the impact knocking the air out of the witch. "Wash up, and after breakfast, we're going out to play ball. Got it?"

Angela shook her head in confusion. "What about gifts?!"

"This is a gift," Tsubaki said, warmly but evenly. "Your presents will be here when we get back. But you could use some exercise." She then poked Angela's belly. "Instead of sitting around all winter break."

Angela frowned. "Meanie," she muttered, as she stamped to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.

Tsubaki watched after her until the door closed behind her. She kept tossing the ball a few more times after that.

"New favorite game?" Black Star asked, as put his hands above the fridge and removed the hot plate from atop it.

"Old favorite," Tsubaki said, as she set the ball down under the stocking. "Just never appreciated it until it was gone."

He nodded. "Yeah." He plugged in the hot plate. "Still up for Rudolph tonight?"

She smiled. "Of course! It's tradition!"

He opened the fridge door and removed two eggs from the carton. "Awesome!" He picked a bowl from the top of the fridge as well and started to crack the eggs. "Really awesome."


	27. Kana Altair and Kim Diehl

Dressed in a hoodie, rubbing her cold hands together before shoving them back under her arms, Kim Diehl sat on the curb in front of the girls' dormitory, next to two bins. To her right, a recycling bin full of all the wrapping paper she collected that morning from around the dormitory. To her left, a trash can full of nothing but something black and sooty.

"Oh, must be trash day."

Kim frowned, looking up the source of that monotone remark: standing over her was a small child, wearing a hoodie decorated with cat-like ears along the top.

"You know, because you are here," Kana Altair droned.

"This how you talk to your RA, you little shit?" Kim replied.

"Merry Day-After-Christmas to you, too," Kana said, as she kicked lightly against the trash can. She then looked inside. "Wow. You got a lot this year."

"Yep," Kim said, putting her chin to her hands, her elbows against her knees. "Freaking Santa."

Kana picked up one of the pieces of coal out of the can. "That's odd."

"What's that?" Kim asked.

She then heard a loud thud against the street's asphalt. It was a bindle bag, the sheet white-or, rather, it was white, until it was blackened by all inside it.

"I got far less coal this year than you," Kana said. "I guess Santa thought I was kinder."

Kim smirked. "Oh, my naive little child."

Kana, keeping her frown straight, still raised an eyebrow.

Kim put her palms flat against the sidewalk, leaning back to look at the cloudy morning sky. "Don't you see that Santa actually loves me?"

"By giving you coal?"

Kim tsked. "I'm a witch. I got a long time to wait for this coal to turn into something great." She looked at Kana. "Like diamonds!"

Kana glanced at her bag of coal. Then at the trash can. "But it takes at least 1 billion years for diamonds to form."

Kim's smile disappeared all at once.

"So I think your investment will be delayed for quite some time."

Kim frowned.

"And diamonds don't form from coal. They form by applying significant pressure to carbon-bearing materials over extensive periods of time in low temperatures."

Kana's voice trailed off, as Kim was now standing over her, slowly punching her left fist into her right palm.

Kana finally smiled, nervously. "T-That's what we learned...in class."

"Oh?" Kim began. "LIke maybe putting your dead rotting corpse under six feet of ground?!"

Kana stopped smiling. Despite the cold, she was sweating. "You would need deeper than six feet-"

Kim then let out a growl as she threw her hands at the annoying brat. Kana leapt up in time-bless her meister training-and landed one foot atop Kim's head, knocking her chin-down to the sidewalk before sprinting down the street.

"Get back here!" Kim shouted, blood dripping from the new cut on her chin.

"Santa will put you back on his naughty list!" Kana called, her arms extended to her sides as she attempted an airplane run.

"Then that means more coal for more diamonds!"

"But I just told you-" Kana shouted, until she slammed into something in front of her. Her arms were now extended around that something-a pair of legs-as her leg that she had had ahead of her was to the side of those legs, too.

The owner of those legs looked down. "Oh, this little shit." Black Star grabbed the back of Kana's hoodie and lifted her to eye level. "The hell are you doing?"

Kana vigorously kicked her legs and swung her arms. "Put me down! She is going to kill me!" Despite her fears, her voice remained deadpan, her face stoic.

Behind Black Star emerged Angela Leon, who was cackling. "Serves you right! And I can prove now that Santa is real!"

"I don't care about that!" Kana said. "I know it now!"

"You do?" Angela asked.

"I got a big bag of coal for my troubles!"

"Ha!" Angela said, pointing. "Serves you right-twice!"

Black Star frowned. "Dude?" He then pulled up what was in his other hand-two big black bags of coal.

Angela frowned at Black Star. "Doesn't change the fact that she was still a big meanie, too! And Santa knew it!"

Black Star rolled his eyes. "What're you running from anyway, Neko Brat?"

"Kana!"

Black Star and Angela's eyes widened. "Oh," both said, as they looked down the street to see Kim sprinting at them.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

Kana grimaced and looked at Black Star. She clapped her hands together and bowed. "If you save me, I promise I will not harass your small, annoying witch for an entire day."

"Two days!" Angela said, holding up two fingers.

Black Star dropped the bags of coal on the sidewalk and seized both Kana's hands with one hand in a shake. "Deal." He then shoved Kana behind him, next to the annoyed Angela, and looked at Kim.

"Outta the way, Black Star!" Kim bellowed, about to crash into the ninja.

Black Star calmly picked up both bags of coal. "Yo."

Kim leapt-and stopped mid-air.

"You get these two bags of coal if you don't kill Kana today."

Kim studied the bags, looked behind Black Star at the annoying Kana-and descended back onto her feet with a friendly smile. " 'Kay!" she said, ebullient, as she hauled up the two bags. "More diamonds for me!"

Kana groaned. "But I just said that diamonds don't-"

Angela slapped a hand over Kana's mouth. "Learn to shut up, you stupid child!"

Kana slapped Angela's hands away. "No, you are the foolish infant who still believes in fairy tales."

"Hey!" Angela slapped Kana's hands back. "You believe in Santa, too!"

Kana turned away as her hands kept slapping at Angela's. "You believe in the Tooth Fairy!"

Angela turned away as she continued to slap as well. "You believe in the Easter Bunny!"

"That's dumb."

Kana and Angela stopped slapping. They looked to see Black Star and Kim looking down at them.

"The Easter Bunny died 28 years ago," Kim lectured.

"Yeah," Black Star said, crossing his arms. "Everyone knows that!"

Kana and Angela felt their jaws fall. "What?!"

Kim and Black Star then chuckled as the children sat at the sidewalk curb, crying.

Kim rested a hand on Black Star's shoulder. "We're gonna get more coal for that, aren't we?"

"Worth it," Black Star replied.


End file.
